


Gold Restoration

by sfiddy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Contracts, Cora is MEAN, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, dealmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 36,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold is a quiet shop owner and ruthless dealmaker.  After getting burned on a deal he realized he can use a pen, not a sword, and has spent 16 years trying to restore his son's fortune.  Just as he was giving up hope, a newcomer to the neighborhood helps him with more than his lost holdings, something he never thought he could use again: his heart.</p><p>Featuring: Evil Cora, manipulated Regina, guard-dog Graham, craftsman Marco, burned-out Jefferson, and more... of course, sweet, clever and stubborn Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Gold

Mr. Gold set aside the brush and rolled his aching neck. It may have been closing time, but that hardly meant the work was done. Without needing to look, he set the jar of solvent aside, pushed the start button on his timer, and stumped through the store to lock up and turn off the neon sign. Anyone with real business knew he had a side door.

After cleaning the last of the now jellied varnish away from the antique wood he sat back and admired the natural grain. What possessed people to wreck a beautiful heirloom with a tin of cheap tinted polymer, he would never understand, but the fine rosewood could be under liquid wax until he had time to properly buff museum polish into it. Mr. Gold settled the library steps on his main shelf and glanced over his workbench.

His tools were cleaned and stored, the few splatters wiped up, and his notes on the day’s projects were carefully ordered and filed away. While each piece had a tag number and file, major projects had their own notebook. The chocolatier’s desk, the enamel pieces, and the stack of mid nineteenth-century maps, among others, all had notebooks, and he only used acid-free pens to write in them. Providence of the pieces, as well as the process by which they were restored, was everything to potential buyers.

Satisfied that his desk and workbench were put to rights, Mr. Gold tied his scarf around his neck and slipped on his coat. The drop box by his door had one cash payment, and this slid into a silk-lined pocket with his keys. There weren’t many comforts available to a harsh little hermit like himself, but his rabbit lined-gloves, fine tailoring, and a penchant for exquisite collectibles could be counted among them. His tenants were grateful he wasn’t inclined to random rent increases, and in return he expected their rents on time, in full, and with as little fuss as possible. Only two had ever given him real trouble and neither Mr. Jefferson nor Dr. Whale spoke of how they’d worked out the payment plans to the other tenants, only that they still had a place to live.

The shop was just a block and an elevator ride from his apartment. He intentionally did not live above the shop so he could escape his projects there, as well as the infernal footfalls of the heavy-soled tenants in the four floors above. The neighborhood was mildly gentrified, though not enough to demand the exorbitant rents a dozen blocks away. As it was, the eight-story, dark stone building was equipped with modern air handling, elevators, and a doorman. He’d made sure he acquired one as soon as he bought the place. He rather liked having his complex errands taken care of. Between the doorman and his building manager, the place ran as smoothly as if it were done by magic.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold. Working late?”

“Always, Graham. Any mail?”

Graham Humbert hurried to fetch a small stack of letters as Mr. Gold loosened his scarf. “Here you are, sir.”  
Three mailed-in payments, one with interest, two notices of contract alterations, an inquiry into a piece, and a flyer. When he noticed the address on the flyer, he peered across the street at the one building on the block he didn’t own. 

A storefront was papered over with a reminder to watch the space. “Graham, anything across the way today?”

“Yes, sir. A crew was bringing in kitchen equipment and finishing out the front room. They covered the windows after that.” Graham held up another flyer. “Looks like the owner wants input about the menu, hours, and so on.”

Gold grunted. “I might give them half a chance, but they are where they are.” He looked over the potential menu concepts. “With food like this, they ought to be located with the hipster crowd a mile from here.” His buildings may not be the fanciest in town, but they were filled with employed professionals with solid incomes and regular hours. 

“Yes, sir.” Whether Graham agreed or not, Gold didn’t care. He didn’t rent him a tidy, deeply discounted place to live to be a grinning idiot or a yes-man. “Is there anything else?”

“Not tonight.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Hmm.”

…

His apartment faced the street. The first one in this building had not, but now he preferred to leave the top-floor penthouses to people who could pay for them. Besides, if the elevator was ever out of service, he was only one flight of stairs up, and his wrecked ankle could handle that. 

Just below, if he looked through the slivers left uncovered at the top of the windows, Gold could make out buckets, stacks of tile, and boxes littering the floor of the formerly empty storefront. He wasn’t against things coming to the neighborhood, far from it, but he hated the idea of an ill-matched business opening, struggling, and then folding right across the street. 

He started a hot bath in his massive tub, one of the other few comforts available besides the silk and the doorman. As the steam began to rise, he pulled out the flyer again. Instead of ticking a box beside one of the concept groups, he simply wrote in the margin.

_Decent, simple food. Good coffee. Proper tea. Open no later than 11pm. ___

There. Let their market researchers chew on that. He’d leave it with Graham in the morning and ask him to return it to whoever left it. If the prospective restaurateur was smart, they’d take at least some of his advice.

He shed his clothes and sank into the tub. His neck finally started to unwind and he only got out when his eyes kept drifting out of focus. Staying close to the grab bars, he dressed for bed with the television on until the droning from his bedroom was too much.

“Shut up.” He snapped as he turned it off. His own voice echoed off the tile, leaving behind the silence to which he was accustomed. Mr. Gold climbed into bed and dropped off into uneasy sleep in the lonely divot that cradled him.


	2. Newcomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the new neighbor, and get an introduction to the behind the scenes schemes.

Mr. Gold ate his breakfast and took the flyer to a bleary-eyed Graham on his way to the shop. Gold Restoration and Antiques opened at eight sharp every day and he generally had a customer or two by nine, a few pieces of business to attend to around lunchtime, and was back in the shop to work his ongoing projects by two. He saw customers only by appointment after that.

Foot traffic was light, and saw the sale of a nice silver platter and matching candlesticks he’d polished the dents out of only last week. The shelf space they left was promptly filled by hundred-year old crockery in soft green and some samples of Depression glass. 

Instead of making the rounds today on foot, he chose to make some phone calls. It was only half ten, so his lawyer, the brilliant lunatic, was unlikely to be far from home yet. Mr. Gold dialed, sincerely hoping to awaken him from a deep sleep.

A rough voice answered. “H-Hello?” 

“Mr. Jefferson. I’m delighted to have caught you.”

“Mr. Gold, always a pleasure. What can I do for my favorite retained client?”

“I’m the only one with you on retainer, I made sure of that, dearie.” Keeping Jefferson on a short leash helped him stay clean if not sober, and Mr. Gold was willing to compensate handsomely for an expert in local contract and property law. “Have you a few minutes? I’d like to discuss the other building and the new acquisition they’ve made.”

Mr. Jefferson cleared his throat and rustled around. “Curious or interested in terms?”

“Double check the deal. See if it’s a conflict and let me know by the end of today.”

“Ah. Is the witch up to something?”

Gold winced. “Just let me know. I want to know if I have leverage or if she’s within bounds.”

“Good as done.”

…

The kettle sang as Gold tied on his apron over his clothes to work. He didn’t generally eat or drink when working at his bench, but today was just for re-oiling the library steps and assessing a freshly acquired box of mismatched porcelain. Great grandchildren had no idea what they were handing over when they brought him things, so when their elders kicked it, he was only too happy to relieve them of pallets of fine bone china, platinum mistaken for silver and other priceless curiosities.

Two cups of tea and the steps were done. Another was poured when Gold was startled by the chime on his door. He set the cup down and warily edged toward the storefront doorway. No local would dare enter his shop after lunch, so he assumed he was about to be robbed. 

Gold’s heart pounded as he hitched the cane up so the handle was a club and listened. Slow footsteps meandered the floor. Thieves would have already known where the treasures were, they wouldn’t wander. Then he heard the tinkle of the crystal mobile. No one could resist the mobile.

A newcomer, then. Gold let the cane slide in his hand and gripped the handle again. 

A woman’s voice, accented, so definitely not a local, called out. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Gold pulled the apron off and straightened his collars as he entered the shop. A woman was standing in the center aisle, looking from one counter to another as if someone was about to jump out at her. A deliberately loud thump with his cane announced him, and he rather enjoyed the gasp of surprise she let out as she whirled around, her face lost behind a handful of wavy brown hair.

“My shop’s normal hours are posted, though I’m afraid the afternoons are by appointment only.”

The woman spluttered, shoving at her hair with her forearm while trying to keep a grip on the box she carried. “Sorry, I didn’t see that on your sign.” She finally bent over to set the box down, and then flipped her head back as she stood to clear the hair from her eyes and mouth. The woman blew out a breath of relief and straightened her shoulders. “I just saw that you were open.”

Mr. Gold pretended he had not just seen every librarian fantasy ever penned, filmed, or imagined and concentrated on her eyes. Lovely blue. “By appointment only. Would you like an appointment?”

Cherry red lips smiled brightly. “Oh yes, please! You see, I have this piece that needs-“

“I am available tomorrow after three.” He rather enjoyed seeing the confused crinkle between her brows. Like a kitten whose toy string had suddenly slipped away.

“But, you’re here now, right? I just want your opinion on the piece.”

Mr. Gold planted his cane and limped by her on his way to the door. “My opinion will be just as valid tomorrow at three as it would be now.” He opened the door and the chimes mocked his guest on cue. “The store is open in the morning if you wish to browse, and I will be at your service at three.” 

She hesitated. “I’m sorry. I just moved in and I didn’t realize. I should have called first.” As she walked by, her hair brushed his arm and he caught a faint whiff of fragrance. Her head barely cleared his shoulder. 

“It’s no matter.” He held the door open as she stepped back onto the pavement outside. 

She smiled gently. “So, tomorrow at three?” 

He inclined his head slightly. “Tomorrow at three.”

…

The box of teacups, saucers, and various serving pieces was mostly mid-range in price and moderately collectable, but most would probably end up buried on some college girl’s desk with a moldy teabag in it. There were three pieces that deserved scrutiny, and those were locked away in his walk-in closet with the jewelry case, precious wires and enamel supplies used for repairs. If one was what he thought it was, it would be seen by appointment only and offered to those who already had established collections.

Gold tossed the soft rag he’d used to wipe the pieces down into a hamper and tossed his apron on top. The laundry girl would pick it up and bring back a stack of freshly washed, non-softened cloths at the end of the week just like he asked. Just like he specified in their deal. Like everyone who provided a valuable service, he gave them a break in return, usually reduced rent, which would promptly increase should they try to back out of the arrangement, though most were too happy to keep their end of the bargains. 

Young Ashley, the laundress and floor-sweeper, had an easy deal. Graham, the disgraced lawman, had a rather harder one, but he was also more compensated. The brutal tactics Gold employed years ago were abandoned in favor of being very, very honest about consequences. Being brutalized oneself tended to make one do that. Now the carrots he offered were sizable, and the stick left in plain sight.

The problem was, one upon a time when he was the monster, he’d created the cold and lonely shadow that he now stood in. 

And it was entirely of his own doing.

The phone interrupted his musings. “Hello?”

“It’s your favorite miscreant and I have news. It’s preliminary, but I have the information you asked for.”

Gold grabbed a pen and paper. “Go ahead. Give me the basics.”

Jefferson shuffled papers around. “Okay, it’s a two-fer deal. The operator of the shop lives on the premises and in return gets a slight reduction in the residential rate. The shop is handled as usual, with normal inspections and an open-door policy to the landlord and or property manager.”

“And the operator?” Gold asked quickly.

“Not a mention. They’re being careful.” Jefferson giggled. “They usually are.”

“Continue.”

“It’s a single tenant, not a group or co-owner. The name and business lines are blank at the moment, but they always do that.” Jefferson paused. “There’s a stiff penalty for any attempt to alter the term of the contract. If the tenant attempts to dissolve and move, the incurred cost is six months of rent on the business, a year on the residential and possible seizure of business property in recompense.”

“Wow.”

“No shit, wow. And the best part is that they buried that in a section about city ordinances. Ten bucks and my left nut says the target has no idea that’s in there.”

Gold set his pen down. “My, my. I had no idea they were getting so desperate. Keep an eye on it, and let me know when names get involved. I have other ways on enquiring that won’t risk sullying yours.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“The usual monitoring. And let me know if Cora makes any move to put her name on so much as a credit card.” 

Jefferson cackled. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Offer to barter your scrotum again and you’ll regret that.” Gold ended the call and scribbled a reminder to tell Graham he may have to snoop again, and to call in the appropriate favors to make it happen. Once he had names, he could start digging. Names, after all, were power.


	3. Belle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have our formal introduction, and some mixed feelings.

A quiet morning at the shop allowed Gold to leave for his errands on time and watch the construction site across the street before they broke for lunch. Men and materials moved in and out of the propped doors and he made out glimpses of neutral paint, a semi-open kitchen, and large, gleaming appliances.

Not wanting to risk attracting too much attention, he slipped into his own building and knocked on Graham’s office door.

“Sorry, Mr. Gold. I was making some of those calls you asked about.” He left the office and stood with Gold in the foyer. “Have to do them when people are at lunch.”

“Good. Anything interesting over there?” Gold swept a hand at the site. 

“Cora came by this morning with Regina.” Graham did not miss the pained look on Gold’s face. “She took a look around, talked with someone inside.”

“Oh dear. Pity the poor soul who captured her fancy.”

“Then Regina spoke to a woman who was going in and out all morning.”

Gold frowned. Few construction workers were women, no matter what your opinions on gender were. “Is she on the crew?”

“Didn’t look like it. She was wasn’t wearing the uniform shirt the crew was. Had her hair tied up under a kerchief thing.”

“And Regina talked to her?” Graham nodded. “Maybe she’s in charge of decorating.”

Graham grunted and leaned back on the reception desk. “I didn’t think black and red was that complicated.”

Gold turned to face the street again. “It is if the black is Cora’s heart and the red the blood of her victims.”

The two men watched as the work slowed for lunch. A few men sat on the curb and opened coolers and others walked away to find restaurants and the nearby carts that had become so popular. Soon, a woman wearing jeans and a bright yellow shirt came out of the doors and shaded her eyes. A blue cloth was over her head and knotted into a bulky cap.

“That’s her?” Gold asked, squinting to make out detail. It was impossible in the glare from the bright pavement.

“Yup. She’s been there all morning.” Graham watched some of the men walking away. Gold liked that Graham operated as a second set of eyes and ears. Suddenly, Graham stood and inclined his head down the street. Gold followed the motion and saw a large man walking towards the construction site, lumbering rather than walking and swinging his shoulders in the oddest way as he walked. There was something off about the man’s gait.

Graham noticed, too, by the way he was watching, but given that his employer had a pronounced limp, he wasn’t about to say anything. 

When she saw him, the woman’s posture changed and her hands were on her hips, transforming herself into a wall. The man stopped just outside of her personal space and started talking, pointing toward the doors, waving his hands in a mimic of hammering and sawing, pointing at the woman and pointing at the café again. She stood motionless, and Gold imagined she was glaring at the man.

“Well,” Gold began with amusement. “I can recognize that kind of pompous demanding anywhere. Graham, I believe we may have just met our new restaurateur.” The man waved a hand between himself and the woman and she stepped back, disengaging. “Perhaps also his chef?”

Graham shook his head and watched the man reach for her arm. “Naw, probably his wife.”

“Trouble in paradise.” Gold looked at his watch. “I’ve had enough of the sideshow. If he gets pushy, call security. Otherwise leave her to it. She’ll be taking it out on us with a moustache-themed menu and miniature Kobe burgers soon enough.”

Gold took the elevator to his apartment and took care of some paperwork, then called up his building manager. “Mr. Collodi, when you a moment to spare?”

A rich voice full of Italian sun answered. “Of course, Mr. Gold. I’ll be up in a half a second with this month’s notes.”  
Marco Collodi carried a tidy record book and a binder of receipts and stood across Gold’s personal office desk. He was one of the few people allowed to conduct business in Gold’s home. Normally, Gold would just sign the reports of such a good craftsman, but he made a point to speak with him. Common problems begat a certain understanding.

“Mr. Gold, I have the maintenance receipts and my notes on the renovation of the vacant units.”

“Anything unexpected?” Gold held out a hand to take the authorization sheets.

“There was some damage from a slow leak, so I had to replace the joint and seals and an area of drywall. Once I finish the paint, you’ll never even know it happened. The cabinets I made for the empty units came out perfecto. The installation  
should finish next week if you have time to look.”

Gold nodded and finished signing. “I’ll make time.” He closed the folder and tapped the cover with his fingertips. This was the real reason the men had rapport. “How is your son, Marco? Have you heard from him?”

Marco fidgeted with the notebook, twisting the cover slightly and worrying at the corners. “My boy is travelling again. I heard from him last week, just a voicemail, and he thinks he wants to go back to school.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Gold tried to sound optimistic. 

“If he actually knew what he wanted, he would have done it by now. August is too easily swayed by his horrible friends, but I can only keep praying that he’ll remember that he can come home. I could always find him work.” Marco glanced up from his hands at Gold. “And your boy? Have you heard… anything?”

Gold faked a smile. “I know that he is alive, working, and living in Manhattan.”

Marco made a noise of sympathy. “But it isn’t long now, right?”

“If Bae wants his trust, he’ll meet me on his thirtieth birthday. I’ve made mistakes, some unforgivable, but he’ll be a rich man with a permanent income for a very long time if he comes.”

“That’s more than I can offer my boy, Mr. Gold. I nearly drank myself to death instead of taking care of my business for my August.”

Gold laughed darkly. “Marco, my friend, you know your son’s voice. I would trade places with you any day.”

…

Marco left and Gold finished his work. When he sat back he saw that it was nearly two, so he quickly closed up his files and headed for the elevator. Graham was finishing taking the deliveries and moved to get the door for him. 

“Back to the shop, sir?”

“Yes. I have a three-o-clock appointment with a new arrival to the neighborhood.”

“Have fun telling her that Nana’s antiques are fakes.”

Gold smirked. “I usually do. Oh, incidentally, did you notice the giant bruiser’s odd walk earlier?”

“Hard to miss.” 

“I figured out why it looked strange. He walked with his rights and lefts together.”

Graham took a quick experimental step. “Oh, wow.”

“Indeed. The giant ape does, in fact, walk like an ape.” He took another step and Graham pushed the door open. “I’ll be back in a few hours. If you see Jefferson crawl out of his hole, tell him I’d like a progress report.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good afternoon.”

…

Gold was in the shop wiping the film from a crystal piece when the door struck the chimes precisely at three. “How very punctual of you, dearie.” He set the crystal back under the high intensity light and turned to greet his customer. The woman was so petite she was dwarfed by his small shop. “Welcome to Gold Restoration. How may I be of service to you?”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “You have such better manners when someone makes an appointment. Does that go for everything, or just people who pay for your time?”

“My time is rather precious, so little of it passes without compensation.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose for a moment and she set down her bag. “Well, in that case, I’d better get to it, then.” She set a largish cardboard box on the counter and opened the top. “I have this. I’m not exactly sure what it is, though my friend seems to think it’s a Faberge.”

Gold looked into the box and saw the curved top of a golden egg. “Your friend is an idiot.”

“I never said I thought she was right, but I wanted to know what it actually is, and if you could, I don’t know, maybe repair it a bit?” She lifted the large egg out of the box and handed it to Gold. “I like what’s left of the colors and I think it would make a great conversation piece, but it’s probably seen better days. I can’t have it dropping chips of glass everywhere.”

He turned it over in his hands, feeling for crackles in the bright enamels, loose pieces of metal inlay, and, finding hinges which allowed the egg to open, how well they moved and if there were any catches. “Well, since we’re both fine with this not being a priceless antique, we can proceed like intelligent humans.”

“What?”

“You have no idea how many people think their garage sale cast-off has to be the most valuable thing to ever walk in my door. A little secret, between you and me, is that half the things being called antiques are less than thirty years old and usually so poorly faked it’s laughable. On the other hand, my best finds are usually in the humblest of circumstances.”

“Really?”

“Six hundred dollar teacups are often used to rinse out a grandchild’s watercolor brush.”

The woman had no idea what to say to that, so she just watched as Mr. Gold examined the bottom of the egg, and the tiny space revealed inside the egg when all the panels opened. 

“While hardly a Faberge, this is certainly an interesting piece. It was probably part of a department store’s Easter display sometime between the first and second World Wars. Extravagant dioramas were not uncommon during those years as a way of making the shopping trip something exciting and convincing people they had bought an experience, not just a pair of  
britches.”

“Is it worth restoring?”

Gold pulled a delicate stand from under the counter and set the egg upon it to hold it steady. “All things are worth restoring if they bring joy. Value and worth are things we cannot always quantify and put hard numbers to. Do you like the egg?”

She nodded vigorously, her curly brown hair flopping over her blue, blue eyes.

“Is it something you want to see every day?”

“Oh, yes.”

He gently took her hand and ran it over the ridges and texture. “Would you want the touch it and know all the imperfections? Love it all the more for them?”

Her lips parted and she breathed out. “Yes.”

“Then I can start on it next week.” He released her hand and retrieved a slip from under the same counter and, knowing her eyes were glued on him, he started to fill it out. He’d had her hooked from the start.

“Can… can I bring more things? I have some spaces I need to add interest to, and I’ve been visiting estate sales.”

Gold tutted. “No, no, no. Never go if they’re calling it an estate sale; they’ve already ripped you off. Just stick to garage sales and my shop. I always make fair deals.”

“Well, thank you. Do I need another appointment, or can I come by anytime now.”

“Better stick to appointments.” Sometimes he had unexpected visitors. “Twice a week enough?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

“Delightful.” He snapped off one copy of the slip and kept the yellow and pink ones. “You keep this one. You can enquire about the piece anytime by phone, but make-“

She cut him off, laughing. “An appointment if I want to see the progress. I get it.” She picked up her things. “It’s a pleasure to do business with you.”

He took her offered hand. “I hope to be of service again, Miss-?”

“French. Belle French.” She smiled gently and did not let go of his hand. “Mister-?”

“Gold. Nicholas Gold.”

She released his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Nick.”

“And you, Belle.” She smiled as she left, walking with a bit more of a swing than most women. He absolutely did not watch with admiration, though. Only in appraisement, like the egg.

That night, he was irritated when Jefferson had nothing to report, and became even more so when his mind wandered to a set of plump lips uttering the words, “Oh, yes.” 

He was more abusive to the remote control than usual when he turned it off to go to bed.


	4. Souvenir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle pays another visit. A cup is chipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't mentioned it before, but many MANY thanks to audreyii_fic and Flameysaur for being prereaders and cheerleaders.

Dawn on Friday morning hid beneath overcast skies and intermittent sprinkles of cool rain. Most of the tenants from Gold’s dark stone building and its lighter twin across the street groused and tugged their jackets on, awkwardly juggling their work bags, coffees, and umbrellas out the doors.

Mr. Gold loved the weather, partly because it reminded him of home and partly because it was easier on the eyes. The bright sun glared off the pale stone of the other building and bleached the details from everything around. The shadow it cast was the only reprieve when he turned the corner on his way to the shop.

Today he cursed his clearer view as he crossed the street, for on any other day he might have missed her.

“Nick! How absolutely wonderful to see you.”

He flinched, but angled his umbrella to allow conversation. “Cora. My, how time gets away from us.” She wore a fitted black suit, flashes of iridescent silk at the cuffs and collar peeking from under creases so sharp and pointed they might actually cut him.

She grinned like a snake and adjusted his tie. “Doesn’t it, though.” Her fingers lingered below the knot before trailing downward. “How’s business going?” 

Gold cleared his throat and smoothed her hand away. “It’s fine. The clients come and go, the projects stay behind.” One of Cora’s hands danced over her necklace as the other lazily spun her umbrella. Gold fought avoid rolling his eyes. “I stay busy.”

“I’m sure you do, but I was asking about your real businesses, not that upscale pawn shop you dabble around in. The economy is taking a bite out of my rental spaces, and I was wondering if you’ve had the same problem.”

“I can’t say that I have, no.” Gold smirked. “I make a point of keeping my units and the common spaces in good shape. You should have a building manager.”

“I- Regina has one.”

“With all due respect to Regina and her choice of company, Sidney Glass wouldn’t know a hammer from his own head and I deeply suspect he’s made the mistake more than once. He’s a property manager, not a building manager, but then, since you aren’t allowed any involvement in the administration of the building,” Gold rolled back on his heels. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with those decisions, would you, dearie?”

Cora kept the smile, but it iced over. “No legal involvement. I can act as an advisor in situations requiring my expertise. Regina knows she can always ask questions.”

“Regina would be better served if she’d had that kind of access to you fifteen years ago.”

The façade wavered, but Cora recovered and began to laugh. “Oh, look at us! You’re the same old Nick, no matter what you do or say. You may be going a bit soft, though. I heard you’re dropping your rates for some pretty thing in return for services rendered.” She reached out to touch his arm. “Honestly, Nick, if you had needs-“

“She cleans the shop.” Gold growled. “Period. The fact that I still have something to work for made me realize I could do things better than…” He looked Cora up and down. “Better than I did.”

They stood in silence with only the rain pattering off their umbrellas. Gold was about to leave when Cora twittered in glee. “Did you know I’ve landed a new tenant to take the commercial space?”

“I’d noticed the work, yes. At one time I had dry cleaner in there.”

“And thank god, too. Otherwise Sidney would have to hire an entire team of plumbers to expand the wet wall. We only had to reinforce the electrical and do the finishing work.” Cora turned predatory again. “And the best part is that little bird will never leave. I sealed up the contract so tight no one in their right mind would break it.” Gold flinched when she chuckled. “Once they found out about it, that is.”

“I almost pity the ape.”

A distant rumble of thunder heralded a more serious turn in the weather. “What ape? Oh you must mean the boyfriend, Gary. He’s as stupidly aggressive as a lobotomized badger, but men like him can be terribly useful.” Cora’s tongue peeked between her teeth. “Men like that always are, don’t you think? He wouldn’t know how to take care of his woman if he had a manual, but he’ll do anything to make sure she’s his.”

Gold felt hot bile nudging his stomach. “As fascinating as your new tenant must be, I really must go. The weather is foul and I find cheap innuendo to be a poor breakfast.” He planted his cane firmly and stepped around Cora.

She called after him. “Oh, come on. You never used to mind standing in the rain with me. And I’ll remind you that it was never, _ever_ cheap.” 

God, how well he knew.

…

It took no less than an hour for his stomach to calm down. Nausea seemed to be his reaction to conversation with Cora these days, and while it was sometimes unavoidable, he tried to keep it to a minimum. If you want something bad enough, you’ll tolerate almost anything. If you want something back that was once yours, well… you’ll even tolerate Cora.

The things we do for our children.

Business was brisk for a rainy day, and in a move he would have laughed at years ago, he laid the absorbent mats in the entryway. Ashley would appreciate the floors not being muddy when she came. Besides, the girl had no business scrubbing a floor in her condition. He might have to hire someone to deep clean eventually, but since she did exactly what he wanted with the polishing cloths and aprons, she could eventually just wash them after she did the baby clothes.

Not wanting to risk running into Cora or her carefully groomed spawn, Gold stayed in his shop during his usual lunch break and quietly worked in the back room. The swinging hatch of his drop box made a tinny clink as a payment was pushed through, and a few minutes later, another. He was not so gauche as to take their payments in person anymore. He didn’t need to.

...

The rain and thunder eased in the late afternoon and left a decided chill in the air. His native lands were a harsh environment, but Gold had grown accustomed to the milder clime of his late wife’s home over the years. That, combined with the missed meals left him chilled and fuzzy. As he considered closing his shop early for the day, the chimes rang.

Gold didn’t even bother with thinking, and grumpily slid off his work stool. “I’m about to close. Come back tomorrow!” He held the edge of the worktable as he walked, feeling off-kilter and light headed as he approached the doorway to the shop.

“Well, I would, Nick, but the food will be cold by then and I really hate it when the bread gets hard.”

Confused, because no one but Cora called him Nick, Gold walked more lightly into the shop. In a soft sweater wrap over denim and carrying a basket, Belle French stood in the center of his shop with an expectant smile on her face. 

Gold leaned on the counter. “I haven’t started working on the egg, yet.”

She held up the basket. “I wasn’t coming to ask about it. I saw your lights were still on and you never left at lunch.”

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Miss French?” He may have snarled a little. Hunger always made him nasty. “It’s not the wisest of occupations.”

“No, but some men on a construction crew have a running bet on whether they can keep time by your habits. If they can set their watches by you for a week, then the foreman buys lunch.” Her laughter sparkled brighter than the crystal. “Apparently, seven rather disgruntled men would like you to keep to your usual schedule next week!”

Gold relaxed. “I see. So you were sent as a sacrifice? An offering of barter to the monster?”

She mock-glared at him. “No. I just thought you might be hungry. I was trying out some things and had extra.” She approached and set the basket on the counter to pull out a bundle, then unwrapped towels from around a clear glass dish. 

Whatever was inside was richly brown and looked filling. “I just tried out a recipe and had enough left for two.” She shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t have anyone else to share with.” 

When she pulled the lid from the dish, fragrant steam rose and made Gold’s mouth water. 

“Do you have a table back there, or should we just eat standing up?”

Only cold, hunger, and a pretty woman with food could distract Gold enough to make him feel a fool. “Oh, yes. Um, this way.” He stood aside and swept an arm toward the back room. As she took her basket into his inner sanctum, he went to the door of the shop, locked it, and flipped the placard to ‘closed’.

Belle slipped a spoon into his hand when he sat across from her at his worktable. “I know it’s only stew,” she apologized. “But there’s nothing like it on a chilly day, don’t you think?” She grinned around her first spoonful and hummed happily. “That came out nice! I’ll have to remember that.”

Even though she started first, he finished long before Belle and tried to resist the urge to scrape the gravy out with his spoon. “Oh no,” She reached into the basket. “Here. I can never stand leaving any behind.” A pair of smooth rolls appeared in her grasp. She tore them apart and gave him one. “When I was little I would sometimes just eat bread with gravy.”

Gold smiled. “When I was a boy, my father would work all day for a bowl of something nowhere near this good for me. Thank you.” He lowered his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. “Though if you think bringing a bit of stew by is going to cut my rates-"

“Did I say anything about that?” Belle sat up straighter. “I just wanted to do something nice for someone.”  
With a wince, Gold set his spoon down. “I’m sorry. No one really thinks to do nice things –anything- for me.” He folded his hands and set them on the table. “I’ve become a bit unaccustomed to nice things.”

Belle didn’t smile as much with her lips as she did with her eyes, and they crinkled at the corners. As she set a hand upon his and drew breath to speak, the side door opened and a very young, very heavily pregnant woman hauled herself over the threshold.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold. I can, um, come back later, I just saw that your sign was flipped and I thought…” Her eyes drifted to Belle’s hand on his. “I um… Oh my God.”

“Ashley, this is Belle, a newcomer to town and from what I gather from her accent, to the country as well. Belle has commissioned a piece and was kind enough to bring some leftovers round. Belle, this is Ashley, she does the cleaning in the shop.”

“Well, just the sweeping and a bit of dusting. I don’t dare touch the workroom except to empty the trash cans and wash the dusting cloths. Sometime there’s,” The young woman descended into babbling and Gold stood up and took her by the elbow.

“Thank you, Ashley dear. Why don’t you go home and rest, I’ll sweep in the morning. The dust will keep till then.” 

“Nice to meet you, Ashley!” Belle called out as Gold ushered her right back out the side door.

Gold locked the side door and saw Belle pull out a thermos and a pair of scones. “That’s awfully nice of you. Most people wouldn’t employ a part-time girl to clean in that state.”

“It wasn’t long ago that I wouldn’t have, but there are certain advantages.”

“Such as? Oh, do you have some teacups?”

“She’s too busy and tired to be nosy. I appreciate that.” He took a couple of the cup and saucer sets that had come his way down from a shelf. One was a pleasant blue with a white stripe; the other had a hand-painted abstract flower. “A nosy person might have figured out, as I mentioned to you, that some teacups can be as valuable as six hundred dollars or more.” 

He set the cups on the table and Belle picked up the floral one to examine it. “A nosy person might take pictures and find someone willing to buy it, and steal it. But what a nosy person would not know is that I know everything in my shop.” Gold fingered the handle of his cane and sat down. “And if young Ashley stole something like that, then I would sell her baby.”

The cup Belle had been holding hit the floor, her hands now covering her mouth in horror.

“It was only a quip.”

“Oh my God. I… it’s chipped.” She knelt down and picked up the cup, touching her finger to the now rough edge of the cup. “Oh, no. Please don’t tell me… that wasn’t some precious, six hundred dollar teacup was it?”

Mr. Gold waved his hand. “Hardly. It’s just a cup.” He took another from the shelf and handed it to her. “I keep the good china for collectors.” He raised an eyebrow. “Appointment only.”

Belle laughed softly. “Of course you do.” She poured tea into his cup and pushed away the replacement he’d given her. “You know, I’m having a ‘break things’ kind of day. I’d better not. Help yourself to the rest of the tea, I’ll get the thermos later.” 

She quickly shoved her things into the basket and tugged her sweater back into place. “Thank you, Nick. I had a really nice evening.” 

Before he could stand or move away, she’d swept in and kissed his cheek. She was almost to the door when he was able to grip the cane properly. “Belle?” 

“Good night, Nick!” She flipped the lock and headed out, with only the chimes banging against the door to usher her out.

Gold, late to the party he hadn’t known he was at, locked the door again and looked at his shop. At the street outside. At all the twinkling lights in the darkness. 

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

No one had a nice evening with him. No one liked him. Not his late wife. Certainly not Cora.

And yet.

He returned to the back room and picked the chipped cup off the table. It was a most artful chip, to be honest. A pretty little arc was simply gone from the tin-glaze piece. It was unusual for there to be such a clean break, but then again, sometimes those were best of all. Uncomplicated.

His whole life was complicated. His shop was a complex jumble, ordered only to the educated eye. His rental deals were labyrinthine, often with subtle modifications to suit the agreement. And his off-the–books businesses; those were a whole different arrangement. Many were more than a decade old, predating his current state of mind and therefore harsher or more punitive than he’d arrange now, if only because the complexity was forbidding, and he found the high penalties pointless.

Almost as pointless as keeping a chipped cup.

He wiped down his work table once more and kept the cup on the shelf nearby. Then he carefully wrapped it in paper and boxed it. Drank the tea.

He rarely carried things as he walked apart from his cane, but the small cardboard box was a nice change. Gold wondered if this was what customers felt like, finding something special and getting to take it home. He liked that feeling, having a little something special, even if it was a ridiculous, broken souvenir.


	5. Nice Things

Tuesday.

Three-o-clock was rapidly approaching. Gold’s lunch appointments had gone smoothly, Graham was rekindling some kind of contact that was useful at locating people, and Jefferson was taking a hard look at Cora’s financial meddlings again. Marco’s cabinets were an example of craftsmanship that would allow him to raise the rents at least two hundred dollars once the hardware was in place and the walls repainted. The units looked so nice he might just update a few more once they were available. 

One of the few blessings he had was that, in this neighborhood, his buildings were never low on occupants. The same could not be said of the neighbors, which was probably why Cora was so determined to twist the poor budding business until she rang the life from it, and then bled it dry. But that was Cora.

He finished putting up his afternoon projects and pulled off the apron. Ashley had restocked him for the week, though soon he would mention that her husband could pick up the basket on his way home. He wasn’t about to drop it off at their door, that was against the spirit of the deal. He’d have to check on the wording.

The chimes banged against the door and shoes scuffed on their way in. She must have been carrying something heavy.

“Nick? I’m on my way back.” Belle’s voice came through the doorway and he followed it. She was hefting a small chest of drawers by herself and he caught the edge with one hand, his other steadying himself with the cane. They managed to shuffle it back into his workroom and set it down safely.

“You should have called.” He scolded. “I could have sent someone to help you with this.”

“It’s fine. I thought I would have help, but he backed out a few days ago.” She shrugged. “What can you do, right?”

“A good deal, if you plan it right.” Gold settled onto a stool and feigned interest in the chest of drawers for a moment. Belle French was in soft leggings and an oversized blouse, the kind of clothes his late wife had hated, and Cora had never owned. Milly had known fine tailoring from girlhood, and Cora was either in rags or aggressive couture, depending on whether the fates were smiling. They’d smiled on her since she’d met him.

A quick glance at the chest. “So, you’ve come across an apothecary’s chest, have you?”

“I found it at a garage sale, like you said. It’s interesting, and I thought it might look nice in a corner. Maybe on a low shelf.” 

She hefted damp hair off her neck and knotted it. The brown curls made a distracting halo. “So, how long have you been in the neighborhood?”

He kept his eyes on the chest and its little drawers. “Long enough to have roots. I like it, and I have business interests enough to keep me here.” 

“Business interests, I see.” She looked around the shop. “But not personal?”

“I, ah, have a son.” Gold bent over and began pulling out the drawers of the chest and checking the fittings, the movements, and the state of the wood. He desperately wanted her to think him a simple shop keeper. That was so much more palatable. “I’ve kept up the business while he’s been at school. I’ve been hoping he’ll come back and take over for me.”

Belle frowned sadly. “So, he’s not here.”

He shut a drawer and pulled out another. The key to the small front cabinet was inside. “No. He’s been away for some time. So, I do my best to make something for him to come back to.”

Gold looked up, startled, when he felt a touch on his shoulder. Belle was smiling gently. “You’re a really wonderful father.” The hand slid away. “And husband, I imagine.”

He bent again and unlocked the cabinet. “Haven’t been one in years. Widower.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gold stood and handed her the key. Memory pressed him, nudging him with all his failings, weaknesses, and spite. He was, and likely always would be, only a limping step ahead of that man, the man who did those things. 

“Me too.”

…

Wednesday

At ten o’clock, Gold was finishing the sale of a set of matched bracelets, a solid silver cake knife, and the ugliest example of classic quilt making ever to curse his display when Belle walked in carrying a small box. He finished filling out the receipt and included all the paperwork that went with the pieces in a folder and thanked the customer on their way out the door.

Belle made a face once the door closed. “What in the world was that… that thing?”

“That was a very carefully handcrafted case of folk art at war with color blindness. If the buyer has a home that coordinates with that quilt, I sincerely hope he keeps the curtains drawn.”

She laughed. “I’ve never seen plaids mixed with florals in quite those shades. I hope I never do again.” She joined him at the counter and set the box on it. 

“How do you think I feel? I’ve had to look at the damn thing for almost a year.” He eyed the box. “I hope you haven’t neglected your calendar, or your watch. It’s not exactly your time.”

“No, no.” She shook her head, sending a few waves of soft hair bouncing off her cheek. “You said something the other day… it’s silly, but, you said you weren’t used to nice things.” She pulled a bit of tape off the box. “Or anyone doing nice things for you.”

He eyed the box warily. “I remember, yes.”

She popped the lid open and held it out to him with a nervous smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I was at the bakery anyway. “

Inside was a pair of luscious little fruit tarts. The red strawberries, bright green kiwi, and dark blue berries sparkled like jewels under a thin veil of glaze. He looked up at Belle. “Thank you. That’s very… thoughtful.”

“The glaze is lemon. Everyone said it went well with tea, so I hoped you would like them.”

“Thank you. It’s hard to find a proper cup of tea around here, though. I find I have to brew it myself.”

She made a funny face and hurried off, saying she had a meeting to keep.

…

Thursday

Gold drank his first cup of coffee from the damaged teacup. He had to drink slower than usual in order to avoid turning it into a dribble glass and staining his crisp white shirt. He drank half of the second from it as well, but the slow pace had eaten up precious minutes and he was forced to think about the offending chip and the pleasant woman who managed to keep him from finishing his morning coffee by dropping a cup.

Of course, it was his fault.

As Gold stepped out of the elevator, Graham was watching the construction site across the street. “Things have slowed a bit.” Graham handed over the previous night’s mail and leaned against the desk. “Not sure if they’ve hit a snag or the management has.”

Gold signed a form and handed it back. “For all our sake’s, let’s hope they hit a water line with a jackhammer. Better that than the alternative.”

“Right you are, sir. Have a good day.”

Gold set off for his shop and wasted much of his morning trying to secure a purchase for some appointment-only pieces. The rest of the morning was devoted to manning the shop and his notes on enamels.

Keeping an eye out for Cora and Regina, he was nonetheless amused by the pointing and watch-checking from across the street as he returned home for other business. He spent his time with a few brief arrangements at his home office to renew leases and one old contract that he tightened the strictures on because the other party thought they could toy with him over a competing interest. He was a relatively benevolent dictator, but still a dictator.

Gold found he was happier to return to his shop than usual. Wednesday had passed without a visit from Belle and he found he was looking forward to seeing her, and not to start another job. It was unreasonable to think that she could be even slightly interested in him, but her friendly smiles and easy banter were as close to a vacation as he’d had in more than a decade.

He returned his attention to the egg she brought. The subtle textures that could catch and hold the molten glass formed patterns that could easily be modified with the use of a bit of wire and solder. She’d made no specific requests on how he should restore it, so he had a rare opportunity to create a masterpiece if he so chose.

Or he could just dump a few spoonfuls of color here and there, cook it in with a mini torch, seal it and be done. The final price tag could be the same and she’d never know the difference.

But that wasn’t the point. Not anymore. So he opened the notebook and started to sketch.

Gold was starting to select the color schemes when his shop door opened, the chimes merely falling off the top of the door rather than jangling against them on impact.

“Nick? It’s Belle.”

Gold dropped his pencil and headed into the shop. “Right on time.” He slid through the curtain and paused when he saw her face. “Are you ill?”

“No, just tired. It was windy, too, so I’m a little blown apart.” Belle pushed her wild hair back and twisted it into a coil for emphasis. With a weary exhale, she pulled a vase out of the basket she’d brought the stew in last time. “I just have this. I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with it. It just doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere.”

Their fingers brushed as he took the vase. “Modernish bone china, about fifty years old. British made, hand painted and with a mark. Looks like it says LeGume?” Gold looked at Belle and shrugged. “I’m not familiar but there are lots of artists.”

“It’s a family name. Not mine, though.”

“Ah. Well, it’s rather unremarkable except it’s a rather fine example of the language of flowers. Are you familiar?”

She laughed and finally had a genuine smile. It deepened the pits beneath her tired eyes. “My father is a florist, so yeah, I’m familiar. Some girl would always come in the shop and try to send messages with flowers when I worked there.”

“What did you do?”

“I mixed up whatever looked nice and told her that’s what she ordered. I wasn’t about to wrap up dandelions, dogwood, gardenias and carnations just because some twit has a fetish.” 

It was Gold’s turn to laugh. “What was she trying to convey?”

“I don’t know. I stopped listening at ‘purity of heart’ and ‘honesty’. I told her once that if she wanted to tell someone something, she had to do the brave thing and tell them.”

“And what if she was too scared?” Gold felt the bitterness creep into his marrow. “Bravery can be over rated, especially when you risk being trampled underfoot.”

Belle set her jaw. “Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow.” Her eyes darted to the left sheepishly. “Sometimes you have to pretend for a little while, though.”

“You look like you have to say that often.” Gold fingered the vase, examining the paintings to avoid examining Belle. Exactly when the conversation had shifted its meanings and targets, he wasn’t entirely sure. He wasn’t sure who really started it either.

“I seem to need it more these days.”

The conversation felt brittle, so Gold went to his workshop and retrieved a book. “Well, whoever made this thought quite highly of themself.” He flipped through the pages. “The ivy means faithfulness or endurance, the wheat means prosperity, and these little ones mean perfection of love.” 

He snapped the book shut. “Nothing like overestimating one’s worth to make for a hideous display. Well, what can I do for you? I could polish it up, but there’s not much else to do with it.”

Belle stared at the vase without making a move to take it back. Her eyes shifted up to him for longer than he was strictly used to being looked at. “I have to think about that. I’m… not sure it has a place anymore.”

“I can keep it here till you make up your mind?” 

“That would be fine. Thanks.” Belle tugged at her hair and rubbed her neck, fidgeting, but not walking out the door. “Any progress on the egg?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He led her back to the workshop and showed her the notebook section he’d devoted to it. “Just writing up plans, but here’s what I have so far.”

Conversation flowed on and off topic. Belle missed home, but had made a life here and hoped to be able to help her father as he got older. She asked about enameling, wood restoration, and how he judged the value of his pieces. He told her about identifying marks, museum wax versus beeswax, and the glass-metal bonding agents used for enameling. The hinges, too, would need some work.

Belle took the notebook and brushed a hand over the sketches, notes, lists of preferred materials and cross referenced notes to instructions on methodology. When her fingers traced the lines of the sketch with measurements, Gold leaned forward. 

“This is lovely, Nick. Amazing, really.” When she turned her head, they were closer than either had expected. Neither pulled away.

“Engrossing project.” Her lips looked so soft.

“Is it?” 

Her eyes were just beginning to loosen at the corners, going half-lidded and glancing down to take the measure of distance, weigh the pressure, and debate further possibilities when the motley collection of wall clocks, cuckoos, and mantelpieces made the collective announcement of the hour.

Belle’s eyes popped open and she cleared her throat. “I really have to get going. Meeting at four-thirty and I really can’t be late.” She grabbed her things, except for the vase, and headed back to the door. “Thanks for showing me your notes. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!”

She dashed out into the thinning light and down the street. Gold closed the notebook with an unsatisfying slap and glared at his clock collection. “Just had to all be correct today, didn’t you?”


	6. Thugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The neighbors like to gloat, and Belle is a bold distraction. Whiskey is imbibed, and a realization is made.

Tuesday

Marco had some brilliant ideas for the units as they opened and was even sourcing the materials. By the end of their meeting, Gold was sure his building would be the centerpiece of the area, most likely outstripping the higher priced, yet less-equipped and maintained units both across the street and closer to the cultural center of town. He even found himself considering taking a remodeled unit. 

Once again, he shuddered at the idea of clever food and ironically named cocktails with absinthe. His success may drive the delusional little worms to his very doorstep. He needed a walk, and left his building to return to his shop for the afternoon.

Not twenty feet from his building’s door, he was accosted by the aggressive clacking of stilettoes. “Mr. Gold, how nice to see you out and about.”

“Regina, how are you?” Cora’s daughter never failed to make him wince, as much for what she was as well as her lost potential.

“As well as I can be with my current state of affairs.” She nodded towards the flapping plastic and covered windows of the now nearly finished café. The sign announcing that passers-by should watch the space was looking decidedly ragged. 

Gold arranged the cards in his head and recalled the young woman’s weaknesses. During the many months before Cora so thoroughly fucked him --when he merely fucked her-- Regina was a bright teen who wanted to learn about business management. He took her under his wing and attempted to be the mentor her mother was incapable of being. The only problem was that Cora had a way of bringing out the worst in him, and there was no way to not be on his worst behavior. 

Regina learned at his knee, but her view had afforded lessons in how to kick people when they were down.

And Bae was watching.

Choosing his words carefully, he proceeded. “I thought you had locked up a rather tight deal, my dear. Don’t tell me someone has flubbed the paperwork?”

“No, no.” She waved a hand and smirked knowingly. “I was taught to never risk the contract. No, the money is in question for the deposit and financing on the café, and it’s the most insane thing I ever heard.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “It cannot be worse than the woman who tried to barter her mother for a year’s rent, can it?”

“Close. Apparently the money was partially fronted by the boyfriend’s family. They intended to pay, but got foxy when the relationship started to fail. Now that they’ve split, whatever happy little business relationship they had tanked, too.”

His fingers twitched on his cane. Money and marriage being tied together had that effect on him. “But, surely they considered this an investment? Was there nothing in writing?”

Regina was practically swimming in the pleasure of knowing something he didn’t. “Oh, I think you know how these deals happen. As it is, ‘business with a handshake’ is only in the movies.”

How well he knew. He saw a few faint lines around her mouth, and he guessed that little Regina had learned the same. The woman whose looks she favored could not have been easy to live with, particularly when he’d managed to legally bind her hands so efficiently all those years ago. Regina had become Cora’s agent at an age when women should be finding a their own lives and thinking about either careers or families, not handling every transaction for an eight-story building in a high-rent neighborhood. 

The alternative was having Cora playing power games with him from across the street until the day he died. He had better things to worry about.

“So,” Gold began, “Was there a business before? Did it move from somewhere?”

“Oh, she had a tacky little food cart. Her prospective fiancée has the real money.”

He nodded, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “I see.”

“You should remember what that feels like, Nick.” A voice purred from behind him and Cora stepped into his view. She looked him up and down. “Milly always did have the best of you.” Cora pulled off her glasses and hat and gazed up at her building. “I suppose in a way I got the best of her. Poor Milly. Have you heard from Mr. Jones at all? I hear he still keeps her photo.” 

To avoid biting his tongue in two, Gold tucked it firmly against the roof of his mouth. 

Cora ignored him and swept an arm under his. “You’re going to love this. If she can’t pull together funding by the start of the term, then we can invoke every penalty and then a few more.”

“Such as?” He pretended to examine his hands. He was mostly trying not to see Regina’s wide, pleading eyes, aching for him to praise her resourcefulness. She was going to be disappointed; bullies didn’t rank high for him anymore. Cora had taken her bright, focused daughter and made her into a thug.

No, he’d done that. Cora made him a better man by beating him at his own game, then he left Regina the spoils. He wasn’t able to weasel out of the contract that gifted the building to them, but he’d been able to alter it to cut Cora out.

God, Milly would kill him if she knew. Good thing graves were pretty quiet.

Cora gestured to Regina. “Such as we keep all the kitchen appliances that are installed at the time of the default, we retain all transferred funds, and we still have the right to collect any incurred costs beyond those formally laid out.” Regina beamed.

Cora tugged on his arm in an effort to bump his shoulder. The familiar motion made him ill. “I had the papers drawn up this morning. Sidney is ever so efficient.”

“Is he? He keeps you satisfied then, dearie?” Cora rolled her eyes and Regina winced. As juvenile as his comment was, it had the effect he wanted, which was to end the conversation quickly. He could handle one of them, but both made his skin crawl.

Once he’d imagined they could fill the void left by the family he lost to sickness and then his own selfishness, but one had no space in her heart for anything but avarice and the other had a hole no amount of love could fill because she’d never learned what it was. 

They spluttered and made their exit, freeing him to return to his shop. The cool darkness punctuated by bright spotlights was what he needed to concentrate. Besides, it was Thursday, and that meant he had a standing appointment.

He still wasn’t quite sure what was happening when Belle French came through his doors, but he rather liked it, even if it was just for fun. He could pretend it could be more, and that was a nice, if perhaps overly ambitious, feeling. Either way, he could enjoy the company of a pretty woman in soft clothes if he wanted. 

At nearly four, he had given up and begun his afternoon projects. His hands were covered in museum wax and the library steps were taking the brunt of his frustration. When the bells smacked against the door he stopped abruptly, but found he was unable or unwilling to jump to greet her. He hated getting wax on the handle of his cane.

“Nick? Mr. Gold? I’m sorry I’m late.” She sounded rough, like her voice had been scraped raw with a scrub brush.

“In the back. I’m afraid I can’t touch whatever you’ve brought today.”

Belle walked into his lair and dropped her bag. “That’s okay. I didn’t bring anything today.”

“Not even dinner?” Gold teased lightly as he rubbed the wax into a deep groove.

“Sorry. I… I haven’t really had a reason to cook for a few days.” Her laugh had an edge to it he did not like. It did not belong.

“Shame. I was looking forward to more stew.” He turned the steps over and began buffing again. “So to what can I attribute this social call, then?” Her eyes were too much like precious sea glass and he had to avoid them. Just keep buffing. “Is our neighborhood so dull that you choose to visit my store rather than what I hear is an excellent entertainment district?”

“The entertainment district doesn’t have good conversation. Just cheap liquor.”

“Something tells me you may be in a state to consider some.” He inclined his head towards a drawer in his large desk. “You’ll find something a bit stronger than tea in there. You’re welcome to some. It’s not cheap, but it’ll do.”

Belle paused, then checked the drawer. She pulled out the bottle and tumblers and poured an inch into each. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Nick.” She set the tumblers on the workbench with a lead crystal thump.

“I’d say I’m shocked, except you’ve hardly said anything at all.” He stopped polishing but kept his hands on the steps. “So, here to confess your deep, dark secrets?”

“Don’t tease me. I’m… not just a new tenant. I’m trying to start a business.” She took a shallow sip of whiskey and grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s not going too well.”

His hands tightened. Wax squeezed from under his fingernails.

“And a relationship I thought had come to an understanding apparently hadn’t, and now I’m stuck with a ton of bills he’d agreed to take care of.” Another sip, less grimace. “I guess you really can’t separate business and romance.” That hard laugh that had no place in her rang out again. 

“I suppose I should say I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t.” Belle frowned. “Don’t you say that. It was over more than a year ago. I thought he knew it, too. Guess not.” She drank again and then looked at his glass curiously. “You aren’t making me drink alone, are you?”

He held up his hands, coated with thick smudges of wax. 

“Oh.” She hopped off her stool, walked around the table, and picked up his glass. Gold watched in disbelief as she held it up and moved it towards his mouth, her eyes on his lips and carefully angling the glass to deliver a drink. 

She flushed pink and the color traveled right down her neck. Disappeared under her shirt. He licked his lips and she saw that, too.

“Thank you. I’d hate to have you drink alone.”

“I don’t usually drink at all. This is strong.” She held up her nearly finished tumbler. 

“I’d hope so. It’s twenty-five years old.” 

Belle looked in her glass and swirled. “Some things get better with age.”

He accepted another drink and this time they kept their eyes on each other. His voice came out low and harsh. “I hope so. My shop’s livelihood depends on it.” 

“I didn’t come for the merchandise.” She said softly, and set down the glasses without looking. She edged closer and closer, and he could feel the warmth of her face so close to his, saw her eyes glancing down to his lips and god help him he kept looking at hers. Soft, pink, as if the earlier flush had coalesced into a deep stain and painted itself there.

Her nose brushed his and stalled, waiting. She had leaned forward quite far, either because she was unsure or she’d had just enough to drink to make her bold but off balance. Either way, the last half inch was his to take. 

The tiniest inclination of his head was enough and her lips were against his, all warm and woodsy-sweet from the whiskey. He leaned in and kissed her, pressing her lips then gently holding her bottom lip with his. She sighed with a faint tremble and raised a hand to cradle his head and neck, holding him firmly since his hands were unusable, glued to the library steps either because he didn’t want to cover her in wax or because he’d forgotten he had hands at all.

Her parted lips were too inviting and soon her tongue lightly touched his. Sparks raced up his spine and bloomed heat across his face, raced up his sides to land lower in his belly. When she licked delicately at his lower lip, he let out a stuttering breath and reciprocated. She finally pulled away and took a final sip, smiling at him.

“Can I bring you dinner tomorrow?” 

He nodded, for a moment unsure what he’d been asked. He was even less sure what he was agreeing to. “Wouldn’t you rather I take you to dinner?”

“I don’t mind. Besides, it’s quieter.” The soft laugh was back. “Better conversation.” She started to gather her things. “I need to go. I have some arrangements to deal with.”

“I imagine so.” 

She was on her way to the door and he followed, still careful not to touch her. Maybe the wax was a blessing.

“Thanks for the… drink.”

“Anytime.” She started to open the door. “Belle?”

She whirled around. “Yes?”

“I’m not sorry. At all.”

Belle looked down at his lips again and smiled. 

As she walked away, he muttered a curse. The handle of his cane was coated in wax.

…

Gold spent long minutes considering the cup that evening. It sat above the sink as he removed the remaining wax from his hands. 

What was the woman interested in? Had she realized who he was and was making a play for his bank accounts? He was not averse to some pleasant distraction, but he wasn’t about to pay for it. Certainly not make a fool of himself like he had with Cora and go handing out sizable chunks of his –Bae’s- holdings.

That had been the second most expensive delusion of his life.

He finished scrubbing his hands nearly raw and carried the cup to his rarely used living room. He was hardly ever here enough to really enjoy it, but he had a liking for the slightly overstated furnishings. They were less elaborate than the last set he’d owned. Cora had accused him of compensating. 

Milly had hated his tastes, and complained that he never lost the tacky streak he learned from growing up poor. 

He supposed it served her right, in the end. He never really wanted to be anyone’s escape or revenge on familial expectation. He fingered the chip in the cup. Milly would have disposed of it immediately- she could not tolerate anything less than the best, or at least the appearance of the best. Her father had made good for her, but she’d had a taste of how normal people lived, and it hadn’t sat well. She couldn’t stand him anymore after that.

It made him bitter and grasping. 

When she got sick, she decided to affirm her life choices and found someone else without having the decency to leave him first.

Which led to the costliest mistake. Gold could forgive the meanness, would have ignored the dalliance if she’d been discreet, but he could never, ever forgive her abandonment of their son. Sick or no, she was still his mother and he needed her, and she wasn’t there.

He made sure she couldn’t be there for the rest of his formative years, and then he spent all his energy building the businesses for Bae to take over someday. The delusion was that he’d presumed that he was right, of course, and that his son actually cared about it. 

The cup made ‘tink’ noises as he flicked the rough edge with his short nails. Could this cup trump his current number two? Or was he being paranoid? Surely this Belle French was what she appeared- a new arrival, lonely, out of a bad relationship and apparently beset by all the complications that come with it. She had spaces to fill in her home and had found him inoffensive and useful. 

No one found him inoffensive. The very earth he trod on was offended by him, and had exacted revenge on his ankle years ago. 

And yet… Not even Cora had been capable of the soft smiles he got from Belle. She teased him, stroked her hand along his neck, and let out a shuddering sigh when his lips touched hers. That would have been very, very hard to fake. 

He stood suddenly, and walked to the window. The glass fogged with his breath. Was Belle thinking about the sounds he’d made? The shaking exhale he’d let out? You didn’t really have to know someone to want them, but they’d had dinner of a sort together, chatted on several occasions. He knew enough to tell that she was in the middle of some big project.

His eyes landed on the papered windows below.

God, he was an idiot.

…

He was expecting the call when it came through. “Hello, Jefferson. Tell me you have news this time.”

“I have news this time.” 

Jefferson went quiet. Mr. Gold gripped his phone so tightly that the plastic creaked. “So help me, if you toy with me today I will call Dr. Hopper and tell him that I suspect you’re using again. Care to see how long it takes him to call child protective services?”

“Sorry, Mr. Gold.” A flutter of paper and frustrated noises came over the line. “So, there’s been a change in the financing. The Mills witches are reformulating the papers to arrange for a couple different outcomes. The first is that the funding comes through and there’s no change. The second is that they take a reduced set of deposit payments and set up a rather punishing rent structure. The third is a default and they take everything, keep the current deposits, and go after the defaulter for damages.”

“Jesus.” Gold breathed. “Wait, if they keep it all, but get damages, they can’t take from the well twice? Can they?”

“They’re framing it as two separate events, so essentially the space is considered twice. Your ladies are getting smart.”

Gold tapped his chipped cup. “Fine. Is there an out?”

“Not yet.” Jefferson went quiet. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“The party of the second part?” Jefferson huffed. “The restaurateur’s name is-“

“Belle French.” Gold supplied.

Silence. “How the hell did you know that?”

“I told you, I have other sources of information.” Gold set the cup down and picked up a pen. “You said there was a way to keep the conditions intact. Get down here. Now.”


	7. Solvent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A compound that was thought relatively unreactive merely requires the correct catalyst.  
> In this case, dessert.
> 
> Or, the one where we (hopefully) earn the rating.

Wednesday

Jefferson stayed far too late and Gold struggled to haul himself from the divot in his bed the following morning. Even so, as tired as he was, this was the answer. It had to be. Anytime you could kill two birds with one stone, you do it and you don’t look back.

Belle would have to be pleased; she’d have her business in the location she’d chosen, and he would be one step closer to getting that building back. It was perfect; the deal was made and paid in the same sweep of his pen, and no one really had to be the wiser, provided they didn’t look too carefully at the fine print.

Jefferson would have the papers submitted by noon, the payments would be arranged by three, and the machinery of commerce would be engaged by the end of the work day. By Thursday, all parties would be aware, and come Friday the deal would be complete. He could plan for his son’s birthday visit to take custody of his holdings knowing that he had secured his full inheritance. Instead of trying to cobble together a comparable value in other holdings over the few months he had left, he could do his best to be a man that Bae might actually want to see again afterwards.

The coffee tasted especially good that morning, and he was getting the hang of drinking from a cup with a chip in it. He even had time to finish his second cup, though he did pause when he realized his lips were all over the edge of the cup where she’d held it. Where the hands that had touched his neck and cheek had rested so tenderly.

He would see her tonight. The prospect had him fidgeting with his tie and checking his shoes for scuffs. As much as he was looking forward to seeing her without the need for an excuse, prop, or appointment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be over stepping. Maybe it was wrong to seek her out when the argument could be made that he’d just paid for her.

Absolutely not. Business was one thing, personal feelings were another. They were two different things for him, and that fact that her ex was incapable of that meant he was a boy, not a man. 

A sharp thump to the floor set his feet in motion. He still had his shop and interests to see to for the day.

Graham was in the lobby, watching the quiet street. “Construction’s come to a screeching halt, and I don’t think a water main had anything to do with it.”

Gold smirked. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling that things are about to pick up again. Any news?”

“My friends tell me that the joint account has been accessed. No purchases have been made yet, though.” Graham was quiet. “It’s been more than a year since it’s been touched. Do you think something is going to happen?”

The stern look on Gold’s face ended the conversation. “Of course, sir. I’ll tell them to just keep an eye on it. Have a good day.”

On his way to the shop, the clacking of heels from behind him grew louder and he sighed. “Regina, if you want to talk, just say so.” He slowed and the clacking came to his side.

“I’m sorry Mr. Gold. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve got news on my little problem.” Regina held up her phone and peered at the screen. “It seems the tenant has come through with the money after all.”

“Has she?” He inclined his head in an invitation for more.

“Yes, it must have happened quickly because it’s a third party interest. I’m presuming that it must be family or a friend because there are no restrictions on the money, just a payment structured into the rental agreement. That’s all I have so far, but Sidney has the rest of it and I’ve got to meet with him to hear the rest.”

“I’m sorry to hear that your mother won’t get to claw the tenant’s eyes out. She was so looking forward to it.”

Regina scoffed. “Don’t listen to her. She just wanted to be sure we had something in the space for as long as possible. I just set it up to make it happen. Just like you taught.”

The handle of Gold’s cane cut into his hand. He felt a knuckle pop and eased off. “I didn’t teach you this.”

Regina’s face fell, and then hardened. “Bullshit. The only restriction you ever had was to avoid breaking a strictly explicit law, and even then just don’t get caught.” A flicker in her eyes sparked with a predatory sheen. “You never even minded playing rough when things didn’t go your way, or is Mr. Killian Jones’s crooked hand genetic?”

“That’s enough. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He raised his cane and nudged her aside with the handle. “If you’re done spouting your ignorance, dearie, I’d like to get to my shop.” He smiled with all his teeth. “Please.”

Regina backed off, suddenly smaller and looking more like the girl he’d first met years ago. She liked wearing her mother’s clothes then to make herself look important. A young woman, who was once so promising, was now just a waste of talent in a power suit.

When parents went wrong, it was the children who suffered.

When he reached the shop he had to calm down, and spent the first half hour putting the shop into order for the day. Then, not expecting much business, he sat down with the collection of enamel pieces he’d been waiting to work on and began making plans.

Only two customers that morning, and they both were in and out in a matter of a few minutes, having come only days before. The drag on his time was minimal and by the time his lunch break came around, he had plans for nearly all the pieces and would start them the following week. They would be perfect to practice on before he tackled the egg.

Business wrapped quickly at lunch, and mostly consisted of making sure Jefferson had everything ready, and the payments were prepared to move. The money necessary to cover Belle’s deposits was hardly more than pocket change but, as he was aware, it wasn’t the amount of money that mattered, it was the position and impact. 

Hard won lessons were always the best remembered.

When he was sure all was right, he stopped to visit Marco.

“Mr. Gold! Come into my office, my friend.”

Gold sat at the spare table that Marco used to unroll building plans and schematics. The tall drafting chair was easy to get in and out of. “I’m pleased that you have done so well with the updates in the last few apartments. I want you to select one of the current vacant units and propose a complete remodel. Take a free hand and tell me what you come up with.”

Marco breathed out softly. “And, crews?”

“Whatever men you would need. Just have a rough estimate. My buildings have always done well, and I have every intention of keeping it that way. We haven’t remodeled on a major scale in over fifteen years. It’s time.” Gold stood and tapped his fingertips on the desk. “And, if your son wishes to join you, he is most welcome… conditionally.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Marco knew the rules, and had abided by them since being hired. His drinking had to stop. There could be no question as to the quality of work or the soundness of his judgment when it came to Mr. Gold’s property. Marco stood to see Gold out of the office. “And, have you heard anything from your son?”

Gold smiled. “He checked the balance on our joint account. If he had any doubts about the lucrative birthday he’s about to have, they’re gone now.” He gazed down at his shoes, buffed to a soft sheen in the drafting lights. “Now I have to see if he’ll buy a plane ticket.”

Marco seized his hand and half shook, half clasped it. “He must. He must come. He will.”

…

At five o clock, Gold had put up his last work pieces for the night and was beginning to clear away the heavy blend of volatile epoxy he used to repair delicate pieces of ceramic. It took several components; each had to be mixed in order, applied, and set in a warm over for a few days to properly cure the repair. The bottles each had to be cleaned with more pungent solvent to prevent the caps from sticking and sealing shut from an errant dribble.

There was a rustle from the shop and the chimes banged against the door. “Nick? It’s Belle. I have food, and I hope you’re hungry!”

Gold stood and tried to stop her before she barged into the workshop, but as she did, the basket and bag she carried smacked the work table. Before either of them could do anything about it, the solvent bottle had been knocked off the table.  
It smashed on the floor, filling the air with eye-watering fumes and covering the floor with shards of toxic glass.

“Out, quickly, my dear.” He put a hand on her back and grabbed his keys on the way out. 

They were both coughing by the time he shut and locked the door behind them. “What… what was that?” Belle managed to say between deep breaths of fresh air.

“That was a fifty-fifty mix of xylene and toluene. A very effective solvent, but quite nasty if you go smashing a half liter bottle of it in an enclosed space.”

Belle dropped the basket and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh no. I’ve destroyed your whole shop, haven’t I?”

Gold bent and grabbed the basket handle. “Not likely. I have an excellent air exchange system so all the paintings are fine. However, the wax on the floor will likely have a rather fascinating splash pattern to it in the morning. Which is the soonest I plan on venturing back in there.”

Belle adjusted the bag on her shoulder and straightened her sweater coat. “Well, I guess we could picnic. Or eat at my apartment.”

“Or,” Gold started towards home, looking back at Belle. “We could eat at my place. I’m only a block away.” Belle hesitated. “I have actual chairs and tables. I might even be persuaded to brew coffee or tea, as well.”

When she laughed, he knew she was coming and warmth spread through his chest and down to his toes. When they got to his building, Graham opened the doors for them. “Graham, I have a dinner guest.” It went without saying that there were to be no disruptions.

“Yes, sir.” 

…

They ended up passing the dining room table in favor of the living room couch. They chatted as Gold uncorked a bottle of wine and handed Belle a set of plates. She served their dinner and sat on the floor, stretching her legs out and leaning on the couch with her plate on the coffee table. From the kitchen, he watched as her eyes roamed his spaces, lingering over the glass doors of the display cabinets, the mix of artwork on the walls, and his few pieces of fine china scattered on stands. 

It made him feel exposed, but she only smiled when he emerged from the kitchen. 

When he sat, he poured the wine and handed her a glass. She handed back a plate loaded with tender meat and roasted vegetables. Gold felt odd with her on the floor and him on the couch, but maybe she wasn’t comfortable sitting too close to him. “So what brought you to town?”

“Oh, the usual.” She said between bites. “I wanted adventure, a new career, and the chance to not inherit my dad’s flower shop.” Belle rolled her eyes. “Not sure how well the plan is going at the moment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Gary, my ex, refuses to let go of the past. I honestly thought we were old enough act as partners, but that’s what happens when your dad gets involved with your relationships, I guess.” Belle looked up. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear that.”

“No, no. Family is very important.” He took a bit of pork and let it melt in his mouth. “So what did your father have to do with it?”

Belle set down her fork and took a long swallow of wine. “My father wants what Gary’s family brings to the table. Specifically, money and some connections to more of it.” She accepted a refill. “He wants to expand his business and thought I was his ticket. For years, I did, too.”

“What changed?”

Without hesitation, Belle replied. “Me.” Another drink. “I grew up. I realized that Gary wanted to swoop in and save me, save my family. He didn’t actually want me, just the idea of me.” She looked ashamed for a moment. “For a long time I thought I wanted that, too, but it turns out I actually want to earn my success on my own. I got my permits, started my own stand, got a few great employees, made a loyal customer base, and scrounged up half the money to make the café. He agreed to front the other half, but I always thought it was separate.” She drained her glass. “Stupid me.” 

“I’m sorry.”

She looked up from her plate to nail him with her gaze, disrupting whatever thought he’d had a hold of. “I thought you said you weren’t sorry.”

Gold sat forward. Bright eyes watched him expectantly and he knew, to his bones, that his words mattered to her. For the first time in a long time, it mattered to him, too.

“I’m not sorry it ended, but I’m very sorry it hurt you.” Her skin looked like the finest porcelain, and in the low light her lips had a delicate luster. Before he realized it, he’d stroked her bottom lip with his thumb before snatching his hand back.  
Her eyes softened and she stood up. For a moment he wondered if he’d overstepped a boundary, but she laid a hand on his shoulder on the way to the kitchen. “I’m going to grab dessert.”

She brought just one dish and one spoon and sat in front of him. “It’s not much to look at, but trust me, this is good.” She dipped the spoon into a mess of white and brown, topped with raspberries, and held it up. He sat forward again, but couldn’t reach, so she got up on her knees and scooted forward. 

Prickles of want started to nudge at his insides. As if it was as natural to her as breathing, she knelt between his legs and braced herself with a hand on his thigh. It was almost casual, almost like she’d known it was accepted. She still held the spoon, her nerves apparent only by the tremor at the tip. 

Deep chocolate was smoothed by cream and brightened by the tang of the berries. His eyes may have rolled to the back of his head for a moment.

“Good?” 

He took the spoon and dish and served her a bite. “You tell me.” He greedily watched her mouth open and wrap around the spoon. There really was no defense against the way her eyes drifted closed as she worked the flavors around her mouth. 

Belle moaned. “God, that’s fantastic. Good with the wine, too.” She wobbled slightly and took a sip from his glass, her hand slipping from his thigh to the cushion behind him. Her body brushed his as she slid forward, all pretense of a shared sweet falling away as she pressed against his chest.

“I think,” Gold took the glass and set it on the coffee table, “You may have had enough to drink, Belle.”

“I’ve had three glasses, and you pour with a light hand, Nick.”

“I’m not interested in getting you drunk.”

“I’m not interested in being drunk.” Belle raised a hand and lightly traced his hairline to his ear. “I don’t think I’d need to be.”

Gold leaned his head back, getting out of range of her lips which were circling his. “What do you want, Belle? Why are you here?”

She paused. “I’m here because I like you. I’m here because I decided for myself that I was interested in you. And I’m here because I’m doing the brave thing.” She leaned forward and put her lips near his ear. “I’m telling you.”

Gold’s head spun from the feel of her breath on his cheek, her hair floating by his face. Any normal man would have wrapped their arms around her, thankful for the attention, and kissed her senseless, but Gold was not a normal man. He gently pushed her back. 

“I’m not interested in your pity. Or your rebound.”

“A year is an awfully long time to wait to rebound. And I don’t have any pity to give. You don’t need it.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Liar.” She kissed him lightly. “Everybody needs something.”

Refusing to acknowledge the need that was starting to strain his seams, he let his lips barely touch hers, not exactly a kiss, but not really moving away. “I’m not ‘everybody.’ I’m barely human according to most.”

She dragged her lips up, catching on his and brushing the tip of his nose. She’d scooting forward fully and propped one knee on the couch between his legs with a foot on the floor for balance. There was no place to put his hands but on her waist.  
The potential was staggering.

“You’re a man. A good man.” She settled and her breasts were only a few inches under his chin. The fragrance of her skin wafted up to him.

“I’m really not.”

A hand at his jaw tilted his face up. She was frowning. “Don’t say that.” Her eyes danced over him, unfairly keeping him under their gaze. “No one should feel that way. Not when,” She raised a hand and pointed to his cabinet, “not when you still save your son’s pictures next to crystal. Only a good man would do that.”

The words hurt, picking at buried sores only he was allowed to scratch at. He wanted to believe it, believe that he hadn’t scraped bottom in order to be what he was now. That he hadn’t needed to.

She was a breath away, waiting for him to catch up to her again. He let his hands slide along her sides to her back and pressed her closer. It was a good start when he hadn’t quite worked out the next words to say, having lost them when her hands ran down the front of his shirt. 

“Tell me, Nick, why did you ask me to come here tonight?” She raised her foot off the floor and straddled his left leg. Her hair tumbled down. It filtered the light from across the room, leaving their faces in intimate shadow.

He spoke without thinking, and the words came out strangled. “I was hungry.”

Belle had been holding herself above him, hovering, but she gently lowered herself against him, brushing his cock. “I’m still hungry.”

Nicholas Gold felt something break within him as her lips dropped to his. He didn’t just receive her kiss this time, but parted his lips when the tip of her tongue brushed him. This was either a dream or a very costly mistake in the making, and he was swiftly reaching the point that he did not care which it was, so long as she kept pressing herself against his lap.

She suckled his lower lip and moaned when he nipped back. “For god’s sakes, Nick, touch me.” She took his right hand from her lower back and cupped her breast with it. The warmth of her body in his hand took away the chill left in his fingertips from the wine glass. His arms and lap were full of a warm, beautiful woman who wanted him. 

He stuttered to a halt, frozen.

“Nick?”

Women didn’t want him, they only wanted what he could or thought he could provide. Not him. Given what he’d done, how did that make her any different? Was it any different if she didn’t know? How did that change it?

“Nick?”

If she found out, would she offer to just suck him off in recompense? That way she could repay him without all the touching. Without the waste of her time. 

“Nick? Are you okay?” He focused his eyes to the worried face in front of him. She looked down at his leg. “Did I hurt you?”

His hand was still on her breast. “No, no. I’m fine.”

She scooted back. “Oh my god. You don’t want this.” The look on her face scrunched into pure horror. “I’ve completely fucked this up.”

He tightened his hold slightly. Not enough to pull or even be called a grip, but enough to keep her from sliding off of him. “Belle wait. Please.” She paused, her lips drawn into a tight line, but ready to bolt away. “Belle, it’s been… I’ve not really had the time for… this in a long while.” His hand fell away from her body and he scratched at his hair. “I told you, most people don’t even view me as human anymore, and…” He struggled to explain himself.

Belle’s eyes softened and she took his hand, soothing his frantic motions. “Are you telling me that you’re not used to nice things again?” He could only sigh in response. “I don’t want to hear how long because it doesn’t matter.” She lowered herself again and, more gently and sweetly, gave him a soft kiss. She opened her mouth against him and lightly traced his lower lip.  
“Be with me, Nick.” She said against his lips. 

It was not so large an apartment that Belle didn’t know where the bedroom was, and she excused herself on the way there to visit the restroom. He waited, not sure if he was supposed to take off his clothes or lay on the bed to wait, so he stood in the middle of the room where she’d left him, trying to appear patient even as his knuckles went white on the handle of his cane. He tried to pass judgment on his room as a woman might, and came up empty-handed when her arms wrapped him from behind.

They landed in the middle of his bed, away from the deep trench he’d spent the better part of the last few years digging and she straddled him, flicking the buttons of his shirt open as he ran his hands over her hips and thighs. Lush, round, and firm curves filled his hands and he squeezed them, pulling her over himself in a mimic of the act.

“God, Belle.”

Soft sighs and warm hands, lips still sweet from cream and berries, and fabric that barely slowed him. Her shirt was gone, and her jeans were undone. His trousers hit the floor and were soon joined by denim. Her neck had a soft indention at the base and her breasts made full, U-shaped curves when she sat up on him to grind her body down harder. When she was over him, the indent was a convenient place to get a taste of her skin as her nipples brushed against his chest. He gave one a gentle squeeze when she arched. Her hair tickled his knees when she threw her head back.

The grind against his cock was insistent. Layers of fabric moved against each other and eased the motion. She reached behind her back and cupped him through his underwear, lightly rubbing his balls. He gripped her hips, pushing upwards against cloth was now wet between them. A low groaning oath escaped him.

Smooth, pale skin yielded to pressure from his hands. He reached down with only dim light to guide him, to find her. He slipped a finger beneath a seam and felt melting heat, seeping wetness. Fingertips slid easily over and through the slick folds.  
She rubbed against him. “Please, Nick. Please.” She sat to one side and tugged her panties off. Shadows hid detail, but a trim triangle stood out in contrast to her fair skin. He pulled her closer and lightly nipped at a peach-soft ear as her hand roamed to cup him again, causing tiny spasms in his legs. His cock jumped.

“Jesus!” His body tensed and flexed around her hands. He was pushing through the front of his underwear and she rubbed her thumb over him.

With a motion full of purpose, she lay down on her back next to him, her legs parted and giving him a full view of glistening pink sex. He jerked off his underwear and went to take himself in hand, to thrust in.

“No, wait. Just, come here.” Belle held out her arms. He leaned forward on his knees, still ready to get to it, but she folded her arms and legs around him, scooting herself so he merely laid against her, rather than in her. “I want to hold you.” His cock pulsed, nuzzled by hot flesh, but she just gently rocked. The motion soothed and smoldered rather than consumed.

Nick could not remember the last time he’d felt so much of a woman against him, or been held in the most priceless patch of real estate a body could offer for so long. Once Milly was over her rebellion, reality made the act one of obligation, not enjoyment. She’d done it so he’d leave her alone. 

Belle sighed into his neck and kissed and licked his shoulder. As she tilted against him, his cock slid in the groove of her sex- almost but not at the entry, almost but not quite fucking. 

Not like Cora, who could do nothing but and offer nothing else. It was a deal which, he was such a bastard at the time, he rather liked. He provided the cock, she provided cunt, and the transaction was simple from there. Once they took what they needed, they cleaned away the evidence and got on with the day.

On Belle’s next rock, she pushed more forcefully and they both gasped. He’d thrust up with her and pushed his head into her clit. Her nails gripped him, pushing sharp half-moons into his skin. He was smeared and slick from belly to balls with her and the tension was making them sweat. Beads of salt broke out on her temples and neck. The curls at her crown fashioned themselves into tight ringlets with it.

He could taste the sex. His nose burned with it. He reached down and slipped a hand into the mess between their bodies and found the base of his cock. Belle’s knees fell to the side as his knuckles swiped against her, sinking into her shallowly as she held herself wide for him.

She bit at him, sucking his lip into her mouth and thrusting her tongue. “Oh, fuck, Nick. Do it. Please!”  
Nick Gold hushed the voice that warned him against entanglements. Hushed the itch in his hands that feared his years away from the bared body of another, and hushed the worries over fine print, contracts, and birthdays. He rubbed his cock up and down, bumping into her clit to feel her tremble before he thrust forward.

Years of reluctant solitude and cheap yanks on his member made him rush to completion, but her hands were busy between them and within minutes she was clenching him, clamping down on his cock hard enough to hurt and he let out a wrenching ‘uh’ as he spent himself violently, biting his own shoulder. He collapsed onto her welcoming body and rolled to the side, taking her with him. They were sticky and panting and new and terrifying and she held onto him tightly, still holding him inside her.


	8. Trifle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk and backstory. Plus, a description of the dessert.

It was still early, not even eleven at night and, unlike Cora, Belle was making no move to rush out his door. Nick Gold filled a glass with ice water and returned to his bedroom, waiting for Belle to return from the bathroom. A part of him still expected to hear the front door close, and one of his long coats to be missing. He slid into his pajama pants and sat on the bed to await developments.

Instead, he heard his refrigerator door. Belle returned, wearing the maroon dress shirt they’d tossed to the floor an hour ago. It complimented her fair skin, and made the pink blush of her cheeks stand out. With the small bedside lamp on, her curvy legs seemed shockingly bare.

She sheepishly held up a bowl and a spoon. “I put this back in the fridge before we…” She nodded towards him. “I thought it might be nice to finish now.” 

Nick stared. Belle looked down at herself. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be okay to wear your shirt.”

“No, no. I mean, yeah.” He honestly hadn’t expected dessert. Again. “You’re still here.”

She parted her lips, but no words came. She looked down into the bowl. “Did you want me to leave?”

“No.” He blurted out, and then scooted back on the bed to lean on the headboard. He sat in his divot and left the other side vacant for her. “That was good.” 

With a wary smile, she looked up at him. “Which? The trifle or-“ She pointed the spoon in the general direction of his groin. His embarrassed smile earned him a giggle.

She sat and handed him the spoon. “So, tell me about your son.”

He almost choked on his mouthful. “Why?”

“Because I want to know more about a man who works to leave something for a son he hasn’t seen in years. Because I want to know why he still has crayon pictures under glass.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Because I want to know more about you.”

“I told you. I’m not a nice man, and before you tell me not to say that, you should know that I am the reason why a fourteen year old boy ran away to live with cousins he’d never met.” He glared at his reflection in the spoon. “He was probably right.”

“You can’t mean that.”

Nick swallowed hard. “His mother and I got married young. She ran away from her family because she thought life with me might be different and exciting.” He snorted. “She was just seventeen when I got her pregnant. I was eighteen and barely had enough to keep us fed with a roof. I worked day and night and started my first shop a few years later.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of work.” Belle hummed around the spoon and handed it back. “She must have been proud of you.”

He laughed bitterly. “Hardly. After a few years of raising a baby and living poorer than she’d imagined, she realized she’d made a mistake. Her family took pity on us and gave her a share of the family… business. We were well off then. I learned the business and we prospered, but it was too late. Milly was tired of me. Tired of what I’d put her through.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t gotten to the best part. We’d gone without seeing the doctor for those years. One day, Milly found a lump. When she saw her doctor, it had already spread and we started therapy right away.”

“Oh my god, Nick.”

Nick felt the words come. He’d never told anyone before. “She fought at first, said she wanted to see Bae grow up, and not deprive him of his mother. One day she came back from a trip home and was different. It was a month later that I figured out why.” He clenched his fists. “Milly decided she wanted to live before she died and we were not, apparently, invited. She’d been having an affair.”

“What?” Belle’s face when slack.

“I didn’t know what kind of man took a sick woman to bed behind her family’s back, but I found him. Killian Jones paid for taking what wasn’t his.” Nick could still feel the vibrations in his arm from striking him with the cane. His hand had gone numb for two days after.

Belle touched his arm very gently. “Then what? What happened to Milly?”

“She screamed at me that she’d never loved me. That I’d ruined her life and she wished she’d never met me.” A muscle twitched above his lip, and for a moment he looked cruel. “I made sure she could never hurt Bae again. She died not long after.” He looked down at his hands. He was clutching the spoon in one hand and Belle’s hand in his other. 

“He was only five. I spent the next nine years trying to build off what we had, to build him an empire so that whatever Milly had gotten from her family would be tiny compared to what I could give him.” He stopped himself. He really didn’t want her to know too much. Not now. “On the way, I was so driven to do right by him that I wasn’t his father anymore. I was mean and cruel, and I spent too much time making people do what I wanted when I should have been spending time with him.”

“You were doing your best.”

“No, I wasn’t. When Bae was eleven, I met a woman. I thought I loved her, but she brought out the worst in me. Bae watched me turn from a hard businessman to a cruel bastard. I taught him all the wrong lessons, and by the time I realized how bad things were, he was already gone. The woman I thought loved me made a fool of me and took part of what I’d worked for.” His voice softened. “What was meant to be Bae’s.”

Belle snuggled into his side and held him. “You still have the shop. You worked so hard for that.”

He hated lying. “I structured his trust to transfer on his thirtieth birthday. It’s just a few months away.” Nick frowned. “Belle, how old are you?”

“Thirty-one. Six months ago.”

That made it little better. He wasn’t sure he could have looked in the mirror if she was younger than Bae. He reached down and took the bowl from her and scraped up a bite. “This is good. You said it’s a trifle?”

Belle looked up, the collar opening to give a spectacular view of her right breast. “Yup. Super rich chocolate fudge cake, vanilla cream, and raspberries.” She stood up and gathered her clothes. “I have an early meeting. My agent called and some paperwork came through. He was really secretive, so I’ll find out what’s up in the morning.”

Nick watched her get dressed as he finished the bowl off. She watched him lick the spoon, then kissed him. “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” She kissed him again, licking a smudge of chocolate from his mouth and sucking his lip clean. 

She was almost to the door when Nick called out. “Belle? What’s this stuff called?”

She smirked. “I call it ‘Better than Sex’, but I think I’ll have to rename it in the morning.”


	9. Miscalculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One misstep is all it takes.

Friday

Nick Gold woke up late. He never woke up late. When he got up, his limbs were loose and he was sore in places that hadn’t been sore in years. He’d slept in the middle of the bed, preferring it to the dent he usually slept in. 

He was nearly out the door for the day when he decided he wanted to take his chipped cup with him to work. If he was going to have tea there, he might as well have it the way he wanted. He carefully wrapped it in paper again and decided he would need to make a lined case for it. 

“Good morning, Graham. How are you today?”

Graham was unused to being greeted first. “Fine, Mr. Gold. Did you enjoy your dinner last night?”

“Yes.” Gold fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I’d like you to call this number and arrange the purchase and delivery of a new, king-sized mattress. The model is on the back.” Gold tucked the wrapped cup into a spare box. As he looked back, Graham was making an impressive imitation of a fish. “Tick-tock, dearie. And tell Jefferson I want to hear from him.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

Gold swept up the broken glass with a smile and threw out the remains of the dried out epoxy components. He couldn’t quite bring himself to curse the mess.

The shop was quiet for the morning and Gold had a chance to inlay the first few small pieces of enamel. He chose a small rose pendant that he’d prepared a few days prior and filled it in with red glass. Under his careful hands, the gold-flecked glass whorled and shined, filling in the inlay space. It might look lovely on a chain.

He set it in the oven to cure, and pulled off his apron when he heard the bells hit the shop door. 

“Nick?” Belle poked her head into the work room. 

“Hey.” It was all he could muster. She looked so fresh, so pretty in her white shirt and skirt.

“Hey, yourself.” She invited herself into his arms and kissed him. “I’m on my way to my meeting. I wanted to see you before, though.” Belle’s lips were right by his ear and Nick held his breath. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

“Me neither. I had to finish the dishes this morning.”

She punched him softly on the shoulder. “I wasn’t really thinking about the dinner. More the dessert.” The smile on her face was beaming and sweet. “What do I smell? Tea?”

“I brewed some a little while ago. Still hot. Can I get you a cup?”

“No no, I’ll just steal a sip of yours, if you don’t mind. I’m in a hurry.” She spotted the cup and went to it, rubbing her hands together. 

“I don’t mind.” He closed up some cases and put away the last of the enameling supplies.

“Oh!” At first Nick was afraid she’d burned herself, for the sharp intake of breath sounded almost like pain. He rushed over as quickly as his cane let him.

Belle was holding the cup. His cup.

“You kept it. My chipped cup.”

Nick shuffled his weight from the good leg to the cane and back. He wanted to tell her that it had become one of his favorite objects. He wanted to tell her that of all the precious things in his shop, this one held the most interest. His mouth didn’t quite manage those words. “I like it. I prefer it that way.”

Belle set the cup down carefully by the cash register and put her arms around him. “I like you, too, Nick.” She kissed him softly and hurriedly grabbed her things. “I’ll be back later after the meeting.”

It was becoming a habit, watching her leave, but he craned his neck to look around his window display to see the way her skirt swirled at her knees and her hair bounced. As he walked back to the workroom, he remembered how that hair had tickled his knees.

The bells banged against the doors again. Unpleasant laughter rang through the shop and under his skin.

“Oh, Nick. My goodness, you do scheme, don’t you, my dear?”

Gold made no effort to hide his irritation. “What are you doing here, Cora?”

Cora sauntered by, hands on her hips and looking over him coolly. “I was walking by and I happened to notice my little bird walking into your shop. And here I thought she was popping in for a little…kitsch.” She sneered at the shelves and their contents. “I didn’t realize she’d found the bull in the china shop, too.”

“Say what you came to say and get out.”

The parade Cora was engaging in around his shop ended abruptly and she walked right up to him. “Fine. Back off, my dear. Back off or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Gold almost laughed. “Are you threatening me? Search your memory, dearie. It’s hazardous to your health.”

“I don’t know what your arrangement is, but if you think you can leverage your way through your whore, you’re wrong.”

His hand tightened on the handle of the cane. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Withdraw the offer. There was no penalty for that, and if there’s anything I know about you, Nick, it’s that you’re a coward and you always leave yourself an escape right up until the last page is signed.” She angled her head to the side, a viper ready to strike. “Or don’t you remember how I got the building in the first place? You couldn’t back out all the way, but you sure did everything you could to keep it from me.”

“I did keep it from you. You have a nasty habit of persistence.” 

Cora laughed. It was an ugly sound. “You only shielded me from inquiry, dear. Regina’s name is on everything. If any deal goes south, tracing it to me will be nearly impossible.”

Gold was disgusted. “Get out.”

Cora’s lips curved upwards as she turned to leave. “Let it go, Nick. I don’t care if the girl is providing you with pussy or naming her café after you. Walk away from it.” She pushed the door open and paused to turn, taking in his stony expression. “I hadn’t thought you were the type to make a whore out of a woman.” She laughed again. “Something new every day, isn’t it?” Cora left the shop and the door shut behind her, clattering with bells and his jangled nerves.

…

Gold was shaky by the end of the day, and decided to leave the cup in the shop. It wouldn’t do to drop it in its already fragile state. 

He locked up the shop with a vicious twist of the keys. It was his duty, after all, to take back what was his- what was Bae’s. Threads of rage spun themselves through his veins, whorling around his heart and binding him down. How could anything, anyone, dare to stop him from completing what he’d set out to do days after Bae left. He’d known as soon as the phone call came assuring him of Bae’s safety that the boy would not be coming back. He knew he deserved it, too. 

Ugly moments of drunken fury and pitiable self-examination had led him to where he was now. He spent no less than two months shut up in his lair, alternating between bursts of energy to reorganize his businesses, finances and life, and the malaise that came with realizing he was not just alone, but so hated that no one came calling to check on him.

Normal people did not disappear for weeks on end and not have a neighbor knock or slip a note under the door. Normal people got phone calls from family who cared about their day. The only contact he had was the boys who delivered food, and he frightened them, too.

He was such a monster that the boys from the deli ran away, often refusing to take their tips directly from him. He took to leaving money in envelopes on the door and waiting for a knock.

After he came out of hiding, he installed the drop box on his shop’s side door. He was always paid on time.

Belle would have to understand. She must- he told her almost everything, so she’d understand why he did it. The little details weren’t necessary, just the big picture. 

But he was a details man. He’d gotten carried away by the idea that he might finally get something he’d wanted, but he knew better than anyone that the biggest mistake you could make was getting caught up in a deal and losing sight of the goal, and restoring the entire trust to Bae had become a life’s work. The question was, was Bae interested in thetrust, or simply trust?

The first to the finish line can still lose on a technicality. 

Cora had called her a whore. Had he respected her any more than one?

Gold walked past Graham without a word and stepped into the elevator. Reproachful silence greeted him as he swung open his door. Lights glared and the glass doors of the cabinets reflected harsh, intense light. He turned on the television to ease the pounding in his ears and poured a whiskey to ease the rest of him. 

Then he called Jefferson. “Ah, my favorite client.”

“Your only client. I’ll be quick, I know it’s your weekend with Grace. Tell me, did I fuck this up?”

The ever present shuffling of papers and clicks of a mouse. “If Cora makes one move, you have her and you can file the suit. The building will be yours.”

Gold sighed. “I know the deal is sound. I meant… the collateral.”

“You mean the people involved.” A stack of papers was dropped. “Regina or the French woman with the café?”

“I mean Belle!” Gold barked the name and it rasped his throat. He set his whiskey glass down on a side table. “Sorry. I think… I think I may have made a miscalculation.” A low beep in the background of his phone revealed another call. “I have to go. Call me early tomorrow. Go put your daughter to bed.”

He took the other call. “Yes, Graham.”

“Sorry to disturb you, but your dinner guest is on the way up.”

“I don’t have a dinner guest.”

Graham cleared his throat. “Eh, you did last night, sir.”

Oh. “Thank you, Graham.” Gold hung up the phone just in time to hear the firm knock on his door. When he opened it, Belle was rigid and her jaw squared from clenching it. She walked in his apartment silently and set a sheaf of long legal papers on the coffee table.

Belle stood by the low table, facing the kitchen. “You’re not just a shop keeper.” She accused. 

Nicholas Gold stayed by the door. “No.”

“You own this whole block.”

“I used to. It seems I misplaced a building. I’m trying to get it back.”

“Through me.” As she turned, her usual sweet smile was a thin, flat seam. “You’re trying to get back at that woman through me. The woman you told me about last night. That was Mrs. Mills.”

“I wanted to tell you.” He offered.

Belle put her hand up. “But you didn’t. We fucked instead.” Her harsh words made him wince. “What in God’s name made you think that was okay?” She picked the contracts off the table. “It took me five minutes to figure out this wasn’t Gary or his family. Did you think I wouldn’t read the fine print?” 

“Hardly anyone ever does.” He shot back and limped his way across the living room. “Did you bother to read the fine print of the contract Regina Mills made you sign? Didn’t your agent make a full check of it for you?” He slashed his hand in the air. “They would have made you a prisoner. You may already be one.”

Belle stretched her arms out. “That wasn’t your call to make!” Belle shouted. “I decide my own fate. I left my father, my home, my country, my fiancée and the security I used to have just to have a shot at making my own way. No one is taking that away from me!”

“I’m not taking it from you. You were perfectly happy thinking it was from your ex’s family. What does it matter where the money came from?”

Belle let out a deep breath and walked right up to him. He could see the purpleish discolorations around her eyelids from exhaustion and emotion. 

“You don’t see it, do you? They would have done it because of shared history and a long standing agreement. You,” She poked him lightly in the chest. “You did it and then had sex with me while the ink was still wet.” 

Belle stepped away and set the packet of papers back on the table. “Just so I’m clear, is my payback the one night, or were you expecting a structured payment schedule. I’ve never been paid for it before, so I figured you would be a good person to ask. You must have made more than a few turn to it.”

“I-“

“Save it. I’m tired. Just remember, someone actually gave a damn about you.” She started to droop but corrected herself, standing ramrod straight and holding his gaze. “Someone actually cared about you. But you were too much of a coward to be honest with me and you’re going to regret it. All you’re going to have is an empty heart and a chipped cup.”

Nicholas Gold watched as Belle wove around him, careful not to touch him as she passed. The door closed with a soft click, rather than a satisfying bang. His television leered and buzzed stupidly as he stared at nothing in particular, unsure where to even begin.

So he started with the side table.

The whiskey burned on the way down. The next one did too. The third was smooth.


	10. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retaliation puts Gold out of commission. Fortunately, he's quite capable of vengeance no matter where he is.

Saturday

Weekends were a mixed bag at the shop. Gold Restoration occasionally became a stop on a city tour bus for those on antiquing trips, and sometimes nearly the entire day could be given over to the work room. Gold had a single visit from a regular and managed to sell a few of the teacups he’d started to run out of space for. 

He had spaces to fill. Spaces in his soul that the meat and ether had left when they rotted away. He’d thought he was a better man, thought he’d left that man behind, and no amount of rationalization was going to unmake it. 

He glanced up at a small stand he’d erected just to the side of his work space. The cup with the chip seemed to catch the light nicely there. 

Last year there was an Earth Day festival at the park nearest to his block. Despite the message of the event and the lack of anything that could be remotely recognized as modern hygiene, the entire park and a six block sprawl around it was strewn with trash, filth, and the mumbling remains of drum circles. Clearly, intent was meaningless.

He’d intended to do right by Bae, and in so doing, had wronged others. The cost of doing business.

It was only ten, and the shop was dead. No buses, no parking to validate. He headed to his workroom and continued working on the enamels. By noon he had the lovely red rose finished, a few handsome lilacs set to cure, and a nice start on the right shade of green for parts of Belle’s egg. He polished the shimmering red petals of the rose and swore at himself. 

He’d imagined it around Belle’s lovely neck.

There was an incredibly loud bang, and the sound of bells hitting the floor. Gold jumped up from his work stool and lurched toward the shop.

“Where the fuck are you, Gold?” The ear splitting sound of glass shattering. “Come on out, asshole!”

Gold, breathing hard and reaching for his phone, took the driver out of a bag of golf clubs and held it up. He stepped out into the shop and put on his mask. A big man stood in the shop, surrounded by shard of broken glass and a carrying a baseball bat. 

“As much as I’ve intended to replace my display cases, I hadn’t expected to get it paid for by another party. You’ll be astonished by the price of good optical glass.” 

The big man sneered. “Don’t you start, you son of a bitch. You know why I’m here.”

Gold feigned calm and turned slightly to slip his hand into his pocket. He could auto-dial Jefferson by touch.  
“I’m afraid you have the advantage then, dearie.”

“I’m here to make you stop, and take back what’s mine!” The man pointed the bat at Gold, who held up his driver. The bat was a far more effective weapon, but he might be able to get in a swing, or at least keep him at bay long enough for Jefferson to pick up.

“If you suspect something here was stolen, there are official channels. I can provide you with a special number in such cases. It’s 9-1-1. If that’s too hard, I can write it down.”

The man took a lumbering, awkward step towards Gold. “Just back off, fucker! And hands off the girl! She’s mine!”

Gold bared his teeth in a cruel smile. “Do you have papers to that effect? No?” Gold watched the man move and began to laugh. “You must be Gary. So tell me, did Cora put you up to this?”

The man froze. Then he turned red. “I’ll shut you up.”

Gold managed to block the bat, but not the fist that plowed into the side of his head twice. He barely heard it as the second display case was smashed, but he felt the rain of broken glass hit him as he lay on the floor. 

“And this is mine, too.” Gary took the hideous wheat and ivy vase and tucked it under his arm. He gave Gold a mild kick to the midsection as he walked to the door. “To remember me by.”

Gold gasped to draw breath. When he was sure Gary was gone, he pulled his phone out and saw that the time was still running on his call. “Jefferson?”

“Ambulance is on the way. Graham is making calls. Don’t you move, I’m on my way.”

Ridiculously, Gold’s main fear as he drifted in and out was of Jefferson missing out on part of his weekend with his daughter. Because he’d kill anyone who disrupted his coming time with Bae. 

…

”I want Whale.”

Nurses scuffed their shoes and whispered. “Why does he want that guy?” Quiet consultation. He’s not the only emergency. “Sir, if you’ll just help us. We have a very good doctor on call. He’s just outside the door.”

Gold brushed the gentle hand off his pounding temple. “Whale. Now.”

“We can assure you, mister,” The chart pages flip. “Mr.Gold, that Dr. Anderson is very good with head trauma. He’s already ordered the MRI.”

“Whale.” He shoved at the penlight in his face. “Where’s Jefferson?”

Whispers. “Is Jefferson your son?”

“Ha!” The insulting laugh makes his head pound. “If he was my son I would have drowned him. He’s my lawyer.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Only family is allowed in the ER.”

“God damn it! Get him in here!”

Voices say he wasn’t alone when he came in. The bright lights are blinding and no matter how often they promise to turn them off, they don’t. Footsteps beyond the ugly green plastic divider and the musical lilt of Jefferson’s voice.

Advocate, power of attorney.

“Mr. Gold, Dr. Whale is on his way.” For all his foibles, Jefferson can handle drama. “The nurses want to know why you’d rather see him than the neurologist.”

“Because he’d love to pay off his favor. I’m offering to end his ‘contract’.”

“How very noble of you.”

“Shut up, Jefferson. You make my fucking head spin.”

“We could just cut it off.”

This laugh hurts, too, but it’s better than being angry.

…

Dr. Whale returned to the semi-private room and lowered the lights even more. “Mr. Gold, I’m happy to report that you have no signs of a sub-dural hematoma.”

“Excellent. When can I leave?” 

Dr. Whale held up his chart. “I never said you were fine. You’ve got a concussion and a half rack of bruised ribs. I’m keeping you here for observation. Plus, there’s the issue of the assault.” Dr. Whale stepped aside and a uniformed cop stepped into the room. “This is Officer Swan, she has a few questions for you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The striking blonde nodded to Dr. Whale then turned back towards his patient. “Nicholas Gold?”

“Indeed. What can I do for you, Officer Swan?”

“You can drop the manners. Graham called me. He said you might prefer to be discreet?”

Gold peered up at her, squinting. “You’re Graham’s contact in the force.”

Emma Swan shrugged. “He and I go back. One screw up and getting on the Mayor’s bad side shouldn’t end a good career.”

“He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

She shrugged off her jacket and flung it over a chair. “Like I said, you can drop the manners. So, do you know who did it?”

Jefferson, who had been quietly sitting in the corner, stood up and joined the conversation. “One second. I’d like to talk to my client.”

With a poorly concealed huff, Emma got up. “Jesus, Graham wasn’t kidding. You really won’t do anything without making a plan, will you?”

“Failing to plan, dearie, is how I got myself in this mess.” Gold held up a pen and gestured to the forms she’d given him. “This instrument and spoken words are responsible for more successes and failures in the world than any war. I have no less than four objectives to achieve in the next few days, and the wrong word to you now would destroy them all. Forgive me if I am difficult.”

Gold and Jefferson consulted while Emma Swan waited in the hallway. When they called her back in, they were both serene and smiling. “Officer Swan, I seem to have misremembered the events of earlier today.”

She frowned. “Have you, now?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I really must speak with my cleaning girl about leaving things behind on the floor. I must have slipped and struck my head.”

One side of her face contorted in an amused frown. “You slipped? And broke two tempered glass display cases?”

“I must have tried to catch myself with my cane.” Gold fluttered a gesture towards his leg. “My ankle, you see.”

“I see. And did you fall on a sculpture of a fist? I can see knuckle marks.”

“I have the most remarkable shop, dearie. A wide variety of things from antique maps to artwork.”

“That’s not a very big selection.” Emma snorted. “You’ve barely moved through the alphabet at all.”

Not missing a beat, Gold smirked. “But in concept, quite diverse. I believe I may have struck a resin sculpture of a dog which, if you imagine the wisps of fur and the shape of the ears, could easily replicate the shape you describe.”

“I’d be happy to search the debris to confirm that. Your insurance company would like the information for the claim.”

“Alas, no. My cleaning girl will have already been in and swept. I’m so sorry.”

“The one who leaves crap on the floor for her employer to slip on?”

“The very same. She is excellent with a broom when the mood strikes.”

“Perhaps she ‘struck’ your ribs, also?”

Gold laughed. “She’s eight and a half months pregnant; the girl is fortunate she can walk. No, doubtless I merely bounced off one of the many trunks in the shop. Perhaps a smaller one.”

“Do they make boot-shaped trunks?” Emma wondered.

“There are countless wonders in this world, my dear.”

Emma Swan puckered her face into a sour scowl. “Fine.” She snapped up the papers and her jacket. “If you decide to re-remember, just let Graham know.” Her face softened slightly. “He knows how to get in touch.”

She toted her heavy jacket out the door and was gone.

“Well, well.” Clucked Jefferson. “It looks like your doorman has a taste for the tough type.”

Gold had the face of a pleased Cheshire. “Cash out a grand and leave it on Graham’s desk with a note to take his contact out for a weekend.”

…

Evening came and Jefferson left, plans in hand. Gold was relieved when his head began to finally pound with a less ferocious and more insulting pain. Shift changes brought the night crew online and a change in the general mood. Most noticeably was the brief period of time where they stayed the hell out of his room and left him alone as they logged out records and the stations were taken over by the next brigade of surly men and women.

Gold assumed that was why he had managed to keep his phone on despite their sanctions. He exchanged messages with Graham and Jefferson until his eyes began to cross, then leaned his head back, desperate for the pounding to stop or for a nurse to return with an offer of medicine. 

A soft beep. 

_The papers are partway filed. French is the hold out. –J_

_When is the deadline? –G_

_Two weeks from today. –J_

_Give it a few days. Go tuck in Grace. –G_

Having dismissed Jefferson for the night, Gold waited to finish his business with Graham.

_J dropped off package. I can’t accept it. –g_

_Yes you can, and will. Marco will fill in. –G_

_Where should I go? I’m terrible at this. –g_

_Weekend wine tasting. –G_

_Does your dinner guest like those? –g_

Gold’s usually smooth typing slowed. 

_Make your reservation before I change my mind. Use the business card. –G_

With Jefferson and now Graham disposed of, Gold let his aching head droop. He’d spend the entire day pretending to be fine for the benefit of his image, but with the dim lights came his own thoughts and he didn’t particularly enjoy their company. A dull ache in his side was punctuated by stabs of pain if he coughed or raised his arm.

Dinner was terrible. The mix of fake grill-marked meat and vegetables was a pale imitation of what Belle had brought him at home, and the sad bowl of milky pudding may have had a sliced strawberry on top, but he wasn’t remotely interested in trying it for comparison. His opinion of dessert was forever altered. 

Nicholas Gold could feel his pulse change with the beats inside his skull. He deserved his punishment.

It was impossible to even think without images of her face and body, backlit by the filtered light in his bedroom, arching and pressing against him. Belle was certainly beautiful, but beauty was cheap. He had known beauty, and saw with his very eyes how it could twist under disappointment and regret. It could harden with calculation and pride, or wither from neglect.

Rather than call her beautiful, he’d call her lovely. The word could encompass the person, rather than just the wrapping she came in. She asked about his son. It was a rare person who even knew he had a son, and even fewer asked after him.

Even fewer asked about himself. None sought him out. Not unless they wanted something. He may not get the chance to fix this, but at least he could make sure she wasn’t hurt any more in the process. He might not be able to make it right, but Nicholas decided, as he lay alone in a chilly hospital bed, that he would do right by those he’d wronged. What started more than fifteen years ago was coming full circle now.

The pounding eased even as he heard the intermittent squeal of the meds trolley in the hallway. He drifted.

He nearly dropped the phone when it began to vibrate in his hand again. The screen was too bright for his eyes and squinting only made it blur.

“Gold.”

“Darling! I just heard the awful news.”

Gold’s stomach churned. “I’m fine. Sorry to disappoint you, Cora.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was horrified when I heard, and rushed to the nearest hospital to find you, but you weren’t there.”

“No, I demanded to be where a friend has privileges. I’d rather see him.”

Cora clucked her tongue. “Ah, your pet Whale. I always wondered when you’d have need of him.”

“It was bound to happen. I know you, after all.” He could hear her smile fall. Women who pretend to be great ladies hate being proven otherwise. “Talk quickly, dearie. I’m rather tired and a trolley full of Vicodin is on its way.”

“You should respect a man’s claim to his woman, Nick. I hear Young Gary was rather distressed when he found out you plowed his field.”

“Young Gary shouldn’t refer to his woman as dirt, Cora.” Gold held his head and plucked the strings he knew would make her vibrate. “Are you really concerned about some idiot’s engagement or are you more interested in the payments?”

“Fuck you, Nick. It stopped being about the property years ago. It’s about you and me, and that you dared to walk out.”

“I didn’t walk, dearie. I ran, then crawled out of the cesspool of my own making.” He gripped the phone. “You turned me into something that was wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything to you that you didn’t want me to. You seemed to enjoy what we did at the time.”

“I’m not that man. Not anymore, and I’ll never be again.”

Cora laughed. “Is this about the girl, or your son?” At his silence, she cooed. “Oh, it’s both. I see.” She lowered her voice and Nicholas strained to hear over the drumbeats in his ears. “Then you better understand this: I will never, ever let go of that building. As long as Regina has the contract you left, I will be right behind her to whisper in her ear. She does whatever I want and if I want her to lock up your pretty little conquest in a cage for the next thirty years, she will. If I want her to shred every scrap of paper that names your son as a co-signee on every lease, she’ll do it and,” She paused. “If I want her to tear your heart out, she will. That’s how I work, Nick. Didn’t you know?”

Nicholas Gold pressed the end button. He had a better call to make.

_Is Grace asleep? –G_

_Yes. Why? Did she call? –J_

_Yes. Move the plan forward.-G_


	11. Adjudication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has decided how things are going to be.

Mr. Gold looked over the insurance papers, consent forms, authorizations and post-release instructions, handed them to Jefferson, and buttoned his jacket. The nurse had been waiting patiently, but finally gave up and said to drop the forms at the station desk, and to follow the release instructions. She was about to close the door on her way out when a hand caught it.

“Good morning, Dr. Whale.” Mr. Gold greeted. “I believe your errand was successful.”

“I did as you suggested. And you were right, she was by the shop when I walked by. I barely even had to slow down before she asked me what had happened.”

Jefferson snorted. “Cora, the concerned citizen.”

“Hardly. When I mentioned that I had seen you the first question she asked was if you were brain damaged or might die.”  
Dr. Whale shook his head. “It was a little over the top.”

“Not really.” Gold commented. “She wanted to find out if I was still competent. If I wasn’t, then she’d have nothing to worry about. As it is, there is only one more piece to move and then we have checkmate.”:

“Huh.” Dr. Whale glanced between the intense faces of his landlord and the lackey. Unaware of the greater game at play, the pawn advanced. “So, Mr. Gold, are we, um… our arrangement? Is it, you know, settled?”

Gold smiled. “I deeply suspect you need no longer fear the State Ethics Committee regarding your past dalliances, and I’m sure that any records pertaining to such allegations will quite soon be unavailable for inquiry.” He examined his cuff and flicked at the crease. “However, I suggest in the future that you take more care in your selection of companions and rendezvous points. Broom closets are rather cliché.”

“Medicine storage.” Jefferson clarified.

“Hmm?”

“It was the storage closet for the entire fourth floor ward.” Jefferson recited from a mental list of infractions. “All the medications including the narcotics. The woman was later convicted of stealing painkillers during one of their trysts.”

Dr. Whale had the good sense to turn red.

“Well. Be that as it may, you should no longer have a problem.” Gold held out his hand. “I thank you for the favor.”  
Whale shook like he was petting a snake and darted from the room after a hurried farewell.

Gold took the release instructions and scanned over them. “So, she was convicted, eh?”

“Yep. Did six months and still on parole.”

“I knew I could have asked him for a bigger favor.” Gold shrugged. “No matter.”

They picked up their things and headed out of the room and down the hall. As they passed the nurse’s station, Jefferson made a ridiculous, flourishing bow and set the forms in front of the harassed nurse who’d given up on them earlier. 

“So, tell me, Mr. Gold. Which piece do we still have to move?”

Gold smirked as he punched the elevator button. “Why, the Queen, of course.”

…

As Jefferson started up his car, he noted that Gold's movements still bore the signs of a headache and bruised ribs. “Home, sir? I could get you something to eat. The nurses said you barely ate.”

“Later. First, the shop. I have a few things to do.”

“You’re supposed to rest. Avoid bright lights.”

“I didn’t ask for your feedback. When I want it I’ll tell you.” Gold reclined his chair slightly, his only concession to his aching ribs. “When we get there, just park in front. I’ll only be a minute.”

Wisely, Jefferson was silent for the rest of the drive, which gave Gold a few minutes to think. He would have to be very, very careful from here if everything was going to work. Arguments had to carefully framed, loyalty respected, and the correct strings plucked ever so gently. That wasn’t to say there weren’t things that might require his older methods, for some people had no sense for subtlety.

Young Gary, for instance. He may have to owe a favor to make that particular interaction fruitful. Gold disliked owing anybody anything, but it was the way of commerce. Everything had a price.

Sometimes it was very, very high.

Jefferson pulled to the curb and got out to help Gold out of his seat. Gold let out a grunt when he stretched the sore muscles in his side, but took his cane and pulled out his keys without further complaint. The door was oddly silent when he opened it.

All the bells were scattered across the floor, their tiny brass clappers flopping every which way, their strings frayed, broken and useless.

A few steps into the shop and his shoes crunched over the broken glass. The cases were off the stands, the wares that had been carefully assembled on the stands and draped over velvet were jumbled on the floor, some repairable, others not. He shuffled his feet to avoid stepping on anything.

The back room was the same as when he left it, solvent-marked floor and all. He might even pretend the hideous massacre in the shop wasn’t there if he just faced the work table.

And there, sitting on the stand upon the table, was his cup. He snatched it up and cradled it carefully in his left hand while he found a padded box. He set the enameled rose alongside as well. He shut off the curing oven and straightened up the enamel supplies for the egg. When he returned, that and the apothecary chest would be his first priorities.

Jefferson was waiting to hold the door for him. “I didn’t even look yesterday. How bad is it?”

“He broke my little bells.” It was a ludicrous thing to say, but it was the first herald of his work day, and the usher of the end. It announced visits, declared the sales, and was the voice of his shop. He wasn’t even sure how he’d acquired them anymore, they just were. And now they weren’t. 

Jefferson started the car. “Got what you need?” 

“Yes.” Gold felt the expectant pause when Jefferson made no move to put the car into motion. He popped the box open. “I wanted my cup, alright?”

Jefferson obliged and put the car into drive and rolled up to the side lot of the stone building. “And I thought I was mad.”

They walked into the building and were greeted not by Graham, but by Jefferson’s daughter Grace playing with a menagerie of stuffed animals on the hospitality desk Graham usually occupied. A voice came from under the table. “Oops, Grace. I think you dropped one.”

A head of blonde hair popped into view. “Hello, Mr. Gold. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Officer Swan, if I recall.” Gold looked around. “Where is Graham?”

“Went for coffee. I said I’d watch the desk and little miss here.” Grace curtseyed and Jefferson knelt for a hug. Emma Swan grinned. “We’re holding royal court.”

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow. “With a stuffed rabbit, a Garfield, and a frog?”

“He’s not a frog!” Grace corrected. “He’s a crocodile. Watch out for his jaws.”

“Indeed.” 

Jefferson escorted Gold up to his apartment and left him at the door, eager to salvage what was left of his weekend with his daughter. After painfully removing his jacket and setting his precious box on the coffee table, Gold stood by the window to watch. When Graham arrived, bearing two cups, he called the front desk.

“This is Graham. How can I help you, Mr. Gold?”

“You can’t. Please send up Miss Swan.”

“Emma?”

“Yes, I’d like to have a word. If she’s available.”

…

Officer Emma Swan let out a low whistle. “That’s… complicated.”

“Not really. Not compared to some of my other arrangements. This one had to come together rather more quickly than most.”

“And you just need me to show up? In uniform?”

“That should be enough. Impressions are rather powerful.” Mr. Gold fingered his elegant blue silk tie. “It’s important to make the right one.” 

Swan shook her head. “And what do I get out of this? I’m not Graham, I don’t owe you anything.”

“Ah. In exchange for this favor, Miss Swan, I will owe you one in return.”

She tilted her head. “What kind of favor?”

Gold waved a hand. “Whatever you like. It could be almost anything, provided the cost is commensurate.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I always pay my debts.”

Emma Swan nodded slowly. “Alright. It’s a deal. Give me as much warning as you can before you do it. I’ll get extra gear just to make it look good.”

“Excellent. You’ll hear from me by the end of tomorrow.”

…

One more message to Jefferson was sent and Gold was free for a few hours. He wanted to lay his sore body down and rest in his own bed, so he went to the bedroom.

It wasn’t his bed. The new mattress had been delivered and it lay, bare and mocking, in the middle of the room. He’d bought it during a fantasy that he hoped would last. 

Graham had been good enough to strip his old mattress and leave the sheets and pillowcases in a neatly folded pile, but with his side so tender and his head threatening revolt again, Gold could not imagine trying to make up the new one. He dumped a pillow onto the couch, left his shoes under the coffee table, and managed to unbutton his shirt before giving up. With his phone close by, he stretched out and finally relaxed, letting his ribs move as he breathed for the first time in hours.

He dozed off with his eyes fixed upon the box holding his cup.


	12. Big Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Personal sacrifice moves the Queen.

A buzzing sensation brought Nicholas Gold around, rattling between his hand and chest where he’d clasped it. The light in his living room was bright and it streamed through the windows, cutting bright gashes into the room and illuminating the flecks that passed through the beams.

Maybe he should commission Marco to do a new apartment for him as soon as possible. He’d rather like a new one. One that wasn’t quite so gloomy all the time. 

After a few blinks, he glanced down at the phone. He had a message. Jefferson had the draft of the proposal done and wanted to give it a run through with him.

_Come down in a half hour? -G_

_Will do. Need anything? –J_

_Coffee. –G_

_I’ll alert Columbia. –J_

Unwilling to sit and have to get up again, Gold showered in the marble enclosure. The only concession he made to his discomfort was skipping the silk waistcoat as he dressed, but otherwise he managed to appear his usual self. The bruising on the side of his head was hidden beneath his hair.

There would be no one to see his side. 

The maroon shirt that Belle had wrapped herself in was still draped over a chair in his bedroom. He gritted his teeth.

…

Jefferson let himself in and started a pot of coffee immediately. “I’ve got the draft document. I need you to run over the terms and conditions.” He poured a mug and handed it to Gold. “See if you want to make any adjustments.”

Gold took the mug and set it on the table, then flipped open the box. “I see. Is the current…occupant amenable to being released from their contract?” He poured his coffee from the mug into his chipped cup. Jefferson stared pointedly. “What?”

“Nothing.” Gold’s lawyer returned to his papers. “Yes, your last hire was delighted to hear about the opportunity.”

“I thought she might. Make sure her boat The Sea Witch is released from dry dock with the understanding that if she’s ever caught trolling the waters off my enclosed beach again, I’ll host the season’s biggest clambake and use her deckboards for kindling.”

“Raking her across the coals, are we?”

“If she didn’t wish to imperil her boat, she shouldn’t have used it to fish Atlantic sturgeon in my coves. Otherwise, I’ll rake the coals made by her boat’s planks, dumps seaweed on them and let it steam my dinner.”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “You’re bloodthirsty today.”

Gold sipped his coffee carefully. “No, I’m just addressing an error I made years ago. I need the head office vacant to make this work.” The rough corner of the chip brushed the same corner of his mouth that Belle had spent time licking at. The inadvertent symbolism was not lost on him. “I can right several wrongs at once. It’s an opportunity I’m not, for once, going to squander.

Jefferson leaned back from the table and considered. He tapped his lower lip with his pen. “Alright.” He picked up a small packet of papers and handed them to Gold. “Here, let’s get this done right the first time.”

Nicholas Gold peered over the pages and looked over at the mad man he had as his only confidant. “If we pull this off, consider any debt you have with me paid in full.”

Jefferson said nothing, but Nicholas Gold saw the faint twitch of a real smile.

…

Mr. Gold did not spend time at his shop on Sunday evenings. Nicholas, however, would make an exception, and as he waited for his swiftly scheduled meeting to commence, he puttered with his enamels and selected the finish for the apothecary chest. Without the pounding in his head, he was feeling rather comfortable, provided he didn’t breathe too deeply or turn too fast. His entire side was tender and an obscene shade of bluish brown, with a few patches of veined purple where the great ape’s boot was pointed. 

He might even get most of the egg done in the next few days, provided business was slow. Or if he closed the shop for a few days, which might be necessary, just to clean up the mess. Jefferson had already arranged for the large cases and the twisted remains of their frames to be removed and the worst of the broken glass swept away, but there were still bits everywhere and stock to be put away and reshelved.

And he wanted to have Belle’s pieces done before she got her new contract. Maybe then she could forgive him before she left and never returned. 

He nudged the edge of a broom along the bottom of one of his remaining cases and pushed bits of glass free. He wasn’t able to hunch over with a dustpan, but he could at least try to find as much of it as he could. 

“Mr. Gold?”

He straightened fully and set the broom aside. “Regina. Please come in and do watch for the glass.”

He escorted her to the back room and motioned to a chair. Regina Mills set her leather case down and perched on a stool. “So, you said you had a deal that might interest me.”

“Indeed, dearie. Though I should tell you it will be the deal of your life. Possibly a deal for your life.”

Regina frowned. “Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a life line.” He held up a bit of string and laid it across the table. He laced a pretty glass bead on it. “You have, for the better part of your life, been pulled either by one side or another.” He tugged on the ends of the string, making the bead shiver and dance across the table. “I am aware that I have been one of the forces.” He lifted one end of the string and cradled the bead carefully in a loop. “What if you were able to remove my influence from your life?” He slipped a penknife from a pocket and cleanly sliced the string, freeing one end of the loop and allowing the bead to roll.

Regina watched. “And how would I go about doing that?” She held the bead under a finger. “Your hands, one way or another, are on every single one of my leases, contracts, and sales.”

“Let’s say I’ve had a revelation.” He set the penknife down and tugged the bead from her fingers by the other end. “Now we are left with one problem: your other force, far more tenacious than I, I suspect.” Gold dangled the bead and gave it a spin.

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Gold.”

“Please, call me Nicholas.”

“I’d rather not.” Regina folded her hands together. “I know you’re after the property. I’ve always known that you regretted giving it to me, even if that was a better option than letting my mother have it.” Her dark eyes sparkled under the bright work lights and Gold knew the fire was still there. “So why did you do it?” 

Nicholas Gold took a deep breath. Regina had sharp eyes and a sharp mind but, for now, lacked the empty-souled drive that animated Cora. “Do you recall the circumstances under which I gifted the property to you?”

“I know there was a major change at the last minute. You originally gave it to my mother, then wrote her out in an eleventh hour move.”

“Correct.” Gold affirmed. “Do you know why I did that?”

She frowned. “No, I really don’t.” Regina’s blood-red lips curled in a parody of warmth too much like her mother’s. “She says you were in love with her.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Which part?” Regina’s face did not soften with her humor. “The idea that you could be in love or that someone could love her?” There wasn’t any good response to that, so he let it go as Regina shook her head. “But that was years before.” 

“I drafted the deal while your mother and I were still… well.” Gold fidgeted. “Then we weren’t. You had nothing, and I was already letting your mother manage some smaller contracts. So, after Bae left, I felt like I had to do something. Like I needed to make good on my promise to you.”

“But the contract was written to my mother. Not me.”

“A mistake I amended, though not terribly well. I’d like to fix that now.” Regina was silent. “Do you not wish for autonomy?”

“No, I just can’t believe that there’s any way to do it. There is nothing she is unaware of. She arranges the hires and I sign off. I can barely pick out paint or remodel a unit without her being there.”

Gold tugged the string and made the bead hop across the table. “I have a way.”

“Don’t play games with me.”

He abandoned the string and bead and pulled out a stack of papers. “Did you know, dearie, that I have a company headquarters? It’s a charming little office in a cottage on the outskirts of Inverness. The downstairs is a shop that sells everything from ridiculous trinkets and maps for tourists to basic groceries for the locals. It also happens to be the mailing address for all my official business. And at the moment, it is vacant.”

“I don’t…. what?”

“The apartment above the shop requires a tenant for six consecutive months of the year. The other six the tenant is allowed to travel, take residence elsewhere, whatever they wish, so long as they are present for other six. All that is required is a certain tolerance of the climate and to scan the two or three pieces of mail I receive there every day. The shop already has a minder, but they do not live on the premises.” Gold handed Regina the bead. “Do we understand each other now?”

Regina fingered the bead, and looked up at Gold. “We might. Tell me more.”

“So long as your mother does not actively dispute the contract and delay it by filing an appeal, I can have the deal in place in the next week.”

“What do you mean, dispute? Of course she’s going to dispute it! You’re trying to ship her off to Scotland!”

“Ah, but I happen to have some information that may make her think twice.” Gold handed Regina signed copies of his hospital outpatient files. “You may not have seen the worst of the mess, but I’m sure you heard that I was assaulted. I happen to know my attacker, and that he was hired or at least influenced by your mother.”

Regina flipped through the file, and saw the signature of a police officer acknowledging contact. “Did you file a statement? Are you pressing charges?”

“As it so happens, I had a momentary memory lapse that has since cleared. I’m going to have a chat with the young man quite soon with that same officer present. He will run off to your mother and impress upon her the dire nature of the charges should I choose to file.” Gold took back his records and placed them safely under the egg. “Do you think you could begin to extricate your holdings from your mother’s influence in six months?”

Though her eyes had narrowed, Gold could see the fire grow hotter. She placed her hands flat on the table, framing the documents he’d handed her. “So, you’re offering to remove your son from all the property business, thereby loosening your grip on it. You’re going to amicably relocate my mother and not press charges for the alleged attack on your person and the damages done to your property.”

“Among other things, yes. Those are the issues that pertain to yourself and are addressed within the contract you hold.”

She flipped her hair back. “So what’s in it for you?”

Gold adjusted his tie. “I need to do this. It’s right.”

“Bullshit. What’s the catch?”

Gold reached forward and flipped the contract to the back page and pointed to a subsection.

“You want me to release the contract on the business space and renegotiate?” Gold nodded. His silence and the strain on his face weren’t missed. “So this is what it’s all about.”

“Hardly. Every big deal requires a trigger. I had to wait more than a decade for one. The fact that I shot myself in the foot in the process is not your concern.” He straightened and slid off his stool. “Renegotiate all points, with proper representation. I have reason to believe Miss French had no advocate for her interests.”

Regina shrugged. “That wasn’t my problem. Sidney did the deals, I just wrote up what Mother wanted.” She examined the bead, glittering and deep red shot through with flecks of metals. “So, why now? When there’s enough to ruin us and take it back?”

Gold folded his hands over his cane handle. “Because I deeply suspect that your silent partner would be as horrified by that action as you are that I haven’t done it.”

Regina smiled. “Bae was a good boy.”

“I know.”

…

Regina had stayed in the back room of the shop while Gold and Officer Swan put Young Gary through his paces. By the end, the thick idiot was shaking and ran directly across the street to warn his handler. Regina promised to examine the contract and get back to him the following day.

Evening drew near and Gold was weary. A good deal was usually invigorating, but he was worn down, either by the unbelievably personal nature of the whole affair, the physical injuries that plagued him or some combination thereof.

Either way, the mess swirled through his head the entire walk home and all the way up to his apartment. Someone had seen fit to put sheets on his new bed and supply him with a few mild painkillers.

He dialed his phone.

_“Jefferson.”_

“Grace still with you?”

_“No, she’s back with her mom.”_

“Do I owe you some thanks? Or have the fairies been to my place and seen to me?”

_“If fairies had done it, they would have left you better pills. I can’t have you sleeping on your couch when you have a new bed.”_

“Hmph. Regina is go. Gary is go. I am stop.”

_“You should write children’s books.”_

“And yet I write contracts instead. Good night, Jefferson. The first batch of news should be in late tomorrow. I’m going to the shop for the day.”

_“Don’t overdo it.”_

“Tell me what to do again and I’ll reconsider my offer to you.”

_“Good night, sir.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Ursula were inspired by audreyii_fic.


	13. The New Grumpy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has just enough time to think. He's not fond of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since audreyii_fic updated Maids and Merchandise, I figured I better update, too.

Gold Restoration opened only slightly late on Monday, but the doors were locked again within a few hours. Nicholas Gold spend the day bent over the egg with small dishes of glass and a tiny blowtorch. By the time he finished for the day, three colors had been set on the egg, which lay in disassembled pieces. 

His business was founded on privacy. Clients could deal with him completely anonymously if they chose, and often did, thus the reason why his receipts and work orders had no space for the client’s number or information. His was clearly stamped, so he had to wait for them to contact him.

They usually did. When they didn’t it wasn’t his problem. Except this time.

It wouldn’t take until the end of the week to have Belle’s pieces done. Nicholas was concerned- would she even come for them? He took the payments from the slot and grumbled out the door. His side was better today, and pained him enough to be insulting rather than debilitating, even though the patches of color were growing rather spectacular. Green dappled the edges and the angry purple in the middle was now a sullen black.

It was entirely possible she would renegotiate her contract and settle in, never to emerge from her café again. At least, not on his account. It was also possible that she would drop it entirely, pack up and leave. There was still a flower shop in Australia with her name on it, and a sure thing was a temptation few battered entrepreneurs could resist. What was a chest of drawers and an egg to someone who was about to leave the country?

Baggage. That’s all they were. 

He packed away his things and left the shop before dark. 

Graham opened the door for him as he approached. “Evening, Mr. Gold.”

“Yes, it is.” Gold paused to examine his mail. He threw out half of the letters. “And where is Officer Swan? I thought you two had a standing date to play house in my reception room.”

“She…um,” Graham was thrown by the burst of ire. “She’s on duty.”

“Hmm. So are you.” He walked to the elevator.

Undeterred, but with less effort towards pleasantry, Graham stopped the elevator door with his hand. “Sir, I have news.”

“Then broadcast it and let me go home.”

Graham removed his hand from the sliding doors. “The account has been accessed again.” Gold’s mouth fell open slightly. “Two tickets were purchased. Your son is coming in two months.”

The door slid shut before Gold could thank him. 

…

Jefferson waited until nearly seven to call. Nicholas was about to crawl out of his skin, but he answered his phone in his curt style.

“Gold.”

"I just heard from Regina. She’s going to sign the whole thing, but she wants to wait to make it official until closer to the end of the week."

“Why?”

"She wants to buy her mother some new luggage." Jefferson cackled.

Gold was silent until he finished. “And Cora?”

"Complete radio silence. She’s either not listening to Gary’s tale or she has and knows not to make a peep."

“Her alternative is a criminal case. I hope you’re right.” Gold knew he would win, the question was what kind of damage was Cora capable of inflicting on her way down. They’d know soon enough.

Jefferson was quiet. "Gold?"

“What?”

"How are you?"

“Fine. My head is better but my side still hurts. Sleeping on the bed was better, thank you.”

"That’s not really what I meant." Jefferson cleared his throat. "I heard that Bae bought tickets."

“Yes. He did.” 

"And Miss French?"

Nicholas Gold looked at the cup. “Good night.”

…

The rest of the week came and went by increments. By Wednesday, the papers were passed around and signed, and Regina bought a fabulous set of fine, matched black and red luggage, elegantly embroidered with ‘CM’ on every piece. Gold didn’t see it, but Graham snapped a quick picture and showed it to him that afternoon. He was too distracted by the layer of museum wax he’d managed to grind into his palm to do more than smile.

Thursday came, and the egg was beautifully complete. It shined and glimmered like alchemy had been worked into the colors and metal. He wasn’t that good at enamels, but it certainly was his best work to date. Good enough to set in the front window as an example piece. 

It was also like lighting a candle in the window, hoping the right set of eyes would take it for what it meant, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath. Not for that. Not when she knew the kind of man he was. 

Careless. Callous. Cruel.

On a whim, he’d settled the enameled red rose he’d made into his pocket and brought it along. It was the work of a few minutes to solder a delicate ring onto the top leaf. Then he’d selected a slim chain from the jewelry case, threaded it through the ring, and contemplated it. 

He finished the apothecary chest but didn’t have the key to lock it, so he flipped a tiny latch and the panels of the egg popped open. The space within was just big enough to capture the imagination.


	14. Renegotiate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes hurt, but thank goodness for the learning curve and forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flameysaur helped a bunch with prereading. Audreyii_fic was awesomely supportive. Thank you, both.

Friday 

The bruises were fading to yellowish browns and greens, an altogether sickly set of impressionist strokes along his side. His shirt slid over his shoulders and hid the damage from view. He packed his favorite cup and headed to the shop.

The contract was filed the previous afternoon and today Regina would present Belle with the opportunity to renegotiate under Jefferson’s careful watch. Nicholas tried not to think about it too much. The odds were in favor of her simply walking away with her starting money intact, though he hoped she might be the stubborn type. He had a feeling she might be.

Now that the egg and chest were done, he kept the shop open for normal hours. A few patrons came by and asked if he’d be remaining or closing the shop. They asked after their property and his progress. They did not ask after him.

It was nearly eleven when a new face came through the door. An exceptionally tall and slim young woman with heavily lined eyes and punk-red streaks in her hair bounced in. She was at least a foot taller than him.

“Do you need directions, dearie?” 

She popped her gum. “Are you Nick?” 

He blinked. She popped. Then she handed him a claim ticket. “Belle’s really tied up in a meeting this morning. She’s my boss. Asked me to pick up some stuff?” The woman raised her eyebrows and hunched to make him look up from the ticket. “She said you did some work for her?”

Nicholas lowered the ticket and caught his breath. “Of course. Just here, in the window.” He retrieved the egg. “I’m afraid the other is too much to carry. I can have it delivered if she’d like.”

“I’ll ask. I think her meeting’s gonna wrap up after lunch.” The woman held out a hand. “I’m Ruby. Nice to meet you, Nick. Belle’s talked about you.”

Gold set his cane on his arm and balanced the egg in the crook of his elbow. “Ah, my reputation precedes me.” They shook and Nicholas returned to the counter to carefully wrap the egg. “So, how much vitriol have I received?”

Ruby scrunched her nose. “Granny only uses canola. Anyway, Belle couldn’t shut up for a few weeks, just went on and on about you. But she hasn’t said anything all week. Just dreamy as all get out Friday morning and then nothing.” Ruby pointed a red-tipped nail at his chest. “So, I don’t know what you did, but you really need to fix it.”

“Not everything can be fixed. Not everything should. Sometimes things are broken.” He wrapped the egg in layers and layers of bubble wrap. Layers protected things.

“I’m not saying you have to be all perfect or some crap. Believe me, I know her ex. The guy could be a complete prince when he needed to, but he never once let her choose anything on her own.” Ruby dropped her finger and shrugged. “All she ever wants is to make up her own mind and do things her way, even if it backfires. I can’t tell you how bad it went the first time we tried to fry a candy bar on the cart.” Ruby grinned when Nicholas chuckled. “So I’m telling you, whatever you did, it’s probably easy to fix, but you have to let go. That’s something Gary could never do.”

Nicholas finished boxing up the precious cargo and taped the top closed. He didn’t add a note or use anything fancy. Nothing that demanded special consideration. He did not show Ruby how to open the egg, either.

Ruby took the box carefully. “Can she pay you when she picks up the other thing? She didn’t give me any money.”

“Sure.” Nicholas fiddled with his tie. “Do you think she’ll pick it up in person?”

She winked. “If she doesn’t, I’ll drag her. I love a snappy dresser.”

With a wave, Ruby left the shop and headed up the street. Nicholas waved back and wondered if he’d done enough or too much.

…

Nicholas stayed in the work room for most of the rest of the day. The afternoon cast longer shadows across his floor and sliced natural light into the back half of the shop. Bright rectangles gave way to slants and then were gone, lost to the oblique angles of nearby buildings. The darkness meant there were fewer and fewer minutes and reasons to linger. 

He was putting the final touches on some silver when he heard the soft metallic click of the shop door. When no voice called, he strained to listen. Light, tentative footsteps made their way through the shop, pausing by the empty spaces, and closer to the work room. There was a soft knock on the doorframe.

The throb behind his tender ribcage made him reflexively brace his chest. “Yes?”

Belle French stepped into the doorway. “I was hoping you hadn’t closed yet.” She held up a sheaf of papers. “I renegotiated today.”

Nicholas gave a guarded smile. “Did you? Congratulations.”

Belle took a step into his work room and spotted the chipped cup. “I suppose I have you to thank. You’re the only one who could arrange it.”

“Probably.”

“I saw Gary. I’m so sorry about him. I heard he-” Belle looked toward the shop and chewed her lip when she eyed him as well. “I heard he was here. Are you going to press charges?”

“Not right now, no. I…leveraged his situation.”

“Leverage.” Her lips tasted and rejected the word. “Is that what people are to you?”

He stood from his stool, still holding a freshly gleaming spoon. “No. People create their situations. I used his to get something I wanted. In return, he avoids prosecution.”

Belle gave a faint, tired smile. “I bet he’s thrilled.” She set the papers on his work table. “And this. Was this what you wanted?”

“In part. You were the catalyst.” She turned and walked towards his cup, leaving her new contract sitting out. “May I?”

“You might as well.” She picked up the cup and watched as he skimmed the boilerplate, using the tip of the spoon to keep his place as he read the papers, searching for the terms. 

Belle perched on another one of his stools. She didn’t face him, but turned so he could see her in profile, hidden in part by her hair. “I was angry, you know.” She waved a hand to silence him. “I’ve had a week to think, and after the last two days, I think I’ve come to understand a lot.”

Nicholas allowed himself a nod.

“But you have to understand, no one, and I mean no one ever thought I could do this.” She fingered the chipped spot as she took a deep breath. “When things with Gary fell apart, I thought he would honor all those agreements and discussions we’d had.” She snorted softly through her nose. “And then everything went wrong. Threatening letters, visits from that horrible Mrs. Mills, her awful agent. God, my father even heard about it and offered me the shop again.” She set the cup down and dropped her face in her hands.

There it was. She was leaving. Leaving everything to arrange ghastly bouquets and funeral wreaths for the rest of her life. Leaving her dream. Leaving him. 

Belle pushed her hair back and turned to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot. “And then there was the third party offer. I swore it had to be Gary’s family, so I went after it. Then I read through it and… well, you know the rest.” She fell silent and looked down at the cup in front of her.

Nicholas Gold felt a twinge shoot through his chest, and it had nothing to do with his ribs. The last time he’d seen her she was furious, and rightly so. He forced his eyes back to the contract, needing to know that she wasn’t being taken advantage of or made some awful error. Not that he could fix it, but at least he would know. 

His throat tightened when he found the section, lit by glinting light off the edge of the spoon and buried under pages of negations directed at the previous, brutal contract. The wording was clear, but he needed her to say it.

“You’re staying?” 

“I’m staying.” He dropped the papers and the spoon. She brought his cup and held it out to him. 

Nicholas took it with a shaking hand, but she hadn’t let go. “Why? I thought you would leave.” Their fingers overlapped. 

“I finally have a chance to do what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” She stepped closer. The cup was between them. “It’s been a bit of an adventure, though.”

Nicholas gripped his cane and shifted his weight. “I’m so sorry. I did everything wrong.”

“Yes, you did. I’m still not sure how I feel about that, but…” She tugged the cup away and pulled their hands out from between them. Her free arm brushed his shoulder. “I’m willing to forgive you. You did fix it, after all.”

A stray curl fell from behind her ear and he tucked it away with a smug half-smile. “I did, didn’t I?” He pushed the cup to a safe place on the table. 

“And humble, too.” She teased, but her smile faded as she squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry I said the things I said. You may have screwed up, but you didn’t deserve that.” Belle wrapped her arms around him and held him, her lips fractions of an inch from his neck and puffing warm breath down his collar. “Just… don’t do that again.” Belle’s hands stroked his shoulder blades as she rested her head lightly against him.

Nicholas Gold struggled with himself. Admissions were not his strong suit, and no matter how potent the feelings he was developing for Belle were, he wasn’t really able to assign the words to them. His actions were always his chief tool. It took so much for him, so many years to come to terms with himself, that he felt stunted and inept.

He raised his free hand and touched her back, his hand skittering nervously until finding a place to rest near her waist. “Belle, I…”

“How did you know I loved red roses?” He stopped even trying to form his thoughts. “My father always ordered extra because he knew I’d take some. I mean, I like lots of flowers, but the red roses are just so vivid, they smell so sweet, and they bloom for a long time and last after being cut.” She fished in a pocket and held up the shimmering red enamel rose. 

“I made it.” 

Belle smiled up at him. “It’s beautiful.”

His mouth loosened now that he could focus. “There’s a botanical garden in town.”

One of her eyes scrunched at the corner. “What?”

“You can pick out the roses you like and I’ll arrange for plantings here. You can pick any colors you like. They’d probably do fine if we put in some large planters in front of the café.”

“Nick.”

“I’ve always liked white, too. Yellow is a particularly nice one, thought I hear the orange ones have the best smell.”

Bell waved a hand. “Nick.”

“But you’re right. Red is very hardy, and you could use cuttings as table settings.”

“Nick!” Belle smacked his shoulder.

“What?”

Belle grabbed his lapels and pulled. “Shut up.” 

Nick Gold wasn’t a connoisseur of kisses, but he happened to know what he liked. He liked soft lips that were just moist enough to slide against his. He liked the swipe and play of tongues and the earthy-sweet taste of want and need. He liked the hand that cupped his head and neck and held him like he was something precious and the other that held him close. 

He liked that Belle was the one he was kissing.

When the last wet sounds tapered and he found himself looking into Belle’s eyes. “I made it. The rose. I made it for you.”

Belle grinned and shook her head. “I kinda figured that out.” 

“Are you hungry? We could get dinner.”

Belle pulled his lips to hers again. “Only if we get take out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is rather... E.


	15. The Chapter I suspect you wanted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... Yes. This.

Nicholas resisted. He really did try, but when he was informed that their orders of pineapple fried rice and teriyaki would take fifteen minutes, he gave up and pulled Belle against him.

“Do you think they mind?” Belle murmured.

Nicholas looked up and glared at the watery bug-eyed faces with their mouths agape, and saw his reflection in the tank. “I have no idea and I don’t really care.” He tucked his head back down to kiss her again.

Belle drew back and giggled. “I meant the people, you idiot. Not the fish!” 

“I know. I don’t care about the fish, either.” 

They only came up for air when the plastic bag full of their dinner was rudely crinkled by their ears.

…

As they walked together to the front doors of his building, Nicholas held out his arm to stop her. “Wait.” He crept up to the door and peered to the side. “All clear.” He held the door as Belle carried their dinner. 

She looked around as she entered the reception area. “Why would it matter if anyone was here?”

Nicholas pressed her against the desk and kissed her neck. “Might be awkward.”

A musical ping announced that the elevator had arrived, and they hurried to get in.

He blindly mashed at the second floor button while Belle ran her hands under his jacket. 

“Is that silk lined?”

He licked at her upper lip. “Of course.”

“Nice.” Belle nipped at his jaw. “I might have to try that on.”

“Only if you take off everything else.”

…

The bag was unceremoniously dropped on the tile, leaking sweet sauce and pineapple chunks onto the tile as Belle tossed her purse towards the armchair and missed by several feet. Nicholas shook out of his jacket one arm at a time and left it over a chair while simultaneously being pulled by his tie down the hall. 

As they got closer to his bedroom, they slowed down. Laughter and playful grabs morphed into low chuckles as his cane bumped into cabinets and she knocked frames off kilter tugging each other closer to the doorway. 

Belle got there first, and turned to avoid hitting anything as she walked through. Nicholas was right behind her and wrapped his arm around her from behind. Forward motion came to a halt as his lips met her cheek, ear, and Belle turned her head, closing her eyes at his touch. 

“Oh god, Nick.” Belle lifted her arms and gripped his head as he ran his nose along the soft skin, exhaling warm breath across her chest, raising goose bumps across her arms.

“Belle.” He breathed against her neck. Fragrant skin warmed under his touch. “Can you forgive a bitter man for his mistakes?”

She lowered her arms and leaned her head back onto his shoulder, eyes closed, and hugged his arms tighter. “Only if you can forgive a stubborn woman for not listening.” Belle pressed herself against him, encouraging him. 

Nicholas felt every curve as she moved and answered her by dropping his cane, running one hand along her side, grazing her breast and smiling at the sharp breath she drew when he did. His other arm held her to him, curves to edges, softness to planes. 

Belle started to shuffle her feet, inching them carefully across the room. With his hands roaming her body and his hardening cock bumping into her rear as they moved, he was having a difficult time remembering what room they were even in until she stopped and turned in his arms. 

“You should sit.” She murmured as she guided him to the edge of the bed. “We were in a rush last time.”

Last time. After the last time he thought it was going to be the only time. Was it only a week ago, or a lifetime?

Belle reached for the ends of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Blush pink skin was cupped by sky blue, held up like an offering and he was not above taking it. 

“Sweetheart.” He reached for her, pulling her to stand between his legs so he could bury his face between her breasts, smell the aroma of luscious skin, and feel the texture of her against his lips. When Belle’s hands brushed his shirt and sought the buttons, quickly opening his shirt, he reached behind her and opened the fastening of her bra. 

Gentle hands explored his neck, squeezed his shoulders, and ruffled through his hair as he alternated between wet kisses and tiny bites. In his mouth, softness was capped by peaks that quivered in his mouth as Belle’s breathing grew more ragged. 

“Oh, yeah. Do that. Just like that.” She pleaded. So he did, and felt her lurch when he did it harder. As Nick ran his tongue over her, open mouthed and panting against her skin, she pulled on his hair and kissed the breath out of him. 

“Jesus, Belle.” Nick tore at his belt and trousers, kicking at them ineffectively. 

“What, I’m not ‘sweetheart’ anymore?” Belle teased as she pulled his trousers and shorts off. 

“Sweetheart is too chaste for the thoughts I’m having right now.” Nick moaned, but when no reply came, he looked up. Belle’s beautiful body, her deep pink nipples, curvy waist, and strong, round arms had stopped moving and she was regarding his lap with silent appraisal. She knelt.

Nick tried to guide her up. “You don’t have to, Belle. Come up here.” His cock was almost bobbing with anticipation. More than anything, he wanted to have her warmth around him, either her mouth or her body, and feel the delicious slide and embrace of her.

That wasn’t helping.

Belle licked her lips. “Shh, Nick.” She cupped him and his eyes rolled back into his head. “Relax.”

He tried, but the jolts of sensation crackling from her touch made his legs twitch, and she hadn’t even put her mouth on him yet. In the soft light, his cock and her lips were nearly the same color and when the two met he felt heat flame up through his spine and warm his skin. Her mouth, hot and wet and velvet and motion, pulled at him, tugging the skin over and sliding it back and forth along the length of him. 

He leaned back, unable to counter the spasms in his belly that threatened to pitch him forward. Belle arched to stay with him and her hair fell down, spilling across his thighs and lower belly. 

“Oh, fuck!” He was covered in her, covered by this woman who took and gave in equal measure. She could have anyone, but she was here, in his lap with her tongue pressing into the underside of his cock and her hair spread over him like silk. 

“Stop, Belle! Please!” Belle sat up, her lips swollen and shining and utterly perfect. Nick pulled her onto the bed and raked his hands against her jeans to unfasten them and yank them off of her. Belle’s laugh made him pause until he looked up at her, lying back on his pile of new pillows and smiling at him, and he knew then there was no mocking, no game playing with her.

So he chuckled as she pulled off her socks, the rough sound lower than he expected and eliciting a silvery giggle from Belle. “You sound like a beast.” She murmured, the laughter in her eyes as he started kissing her knees. 

Teasing had never been a part of his bedroom experience. He’d never laughed as he loved before, but the melding of humor with the tingles and touches were addictive. In a moment possessed by playfulness, Nick bared his teeth and snapped at her. Belle laughed and pushed at his chest with her foot.

As he wobbled back, unstable, Nick thought he may have overdone it. Belle’s lower leg, however, wound around his back and she hooked the other foot at his hip and pulled him over her.

“You didn’t think you were going to scare me off, did you?” Belle said against his lips.

“You should have run away when you had the chance.” Nick caught her lips in a kiss and worked his way down her neck. “Now I’ve got you.” 

Belle’s giggles stalled and turned into low pants and puffs again as Nick worked his way down her body. She tried to wriggle down, to draw him again, but Nick wrapped his arms around her middle and ran his tongue in a lazy trail over her belly. Her body trembled between his hands, the muscles in her back clenching and restless. 

Her legs squeezed him, wrapped around him, stroked down his back and she caressed his sides with her soft insteps. “Please. God, please, Nick.”

“Just let me, Belle.” Nick could feel her heat against his chest, her soft wet skin sliding against him already. He could rear up and slide his cock in her to the hilt without even slowing down, she was probably so ready.

But that wasn’t what Nick wanted, so he changed his grip on her, loosening his arms from around her waist to hook his arms under her thighs and lay a hand flat on her belly. Belle gasped when his mouth closed on her, sweet wet heat fragrant with musk and the softest skin everywhere. He groaned into her sex, pressing his hips down against the bed and his tongue as far into her as he could reach. Belle’s hands flew into his hair, scratching and caressing all at once. 

His highly attuned and strategic mind unwound into loose threads as Belle thrust her hips slightly upwards, undulating to the tune of his hands and mouth. He lapped and stroked her, gripping both of her thighs to his shoulders as an anchor, holding her to him even as she moaned and grasped the sheets, the pillows, his shoulders. His hands, accustomed to delicate work, found purpose dancing and stroking over her until her legs shook and she reached down to grab him. 

She pulled him up and kissed him hard, licking at his lips and sending a ripple of sensation through him, frazzling his worn nerves. “Hold you, just for a sec.” Nick rested his weight on his knees and elbows and felt Belle’s tender embrace everywhere again. He’d missed this most of all, that feeling of closeness after so long, so much rejection, and so much loneliness. But that wasn’t what tonight was for. Tonight was a new start; a new start with a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her, who actually knew him, understood, and had seen some of his worst behavior. And she still wanted him.

Nick flipped them over and held her up so she could slide herself along his cock. The light must have hit him just right, now that Belle finally had a good view of him from above, for her eyes went wide. She fixated on the colorful bruising on his ribs.

“Leave it, Belle.” But she stooped over and kissed his side, then traversed across his chest, leaving tender kisses in her wake. For all her strength and stubbornly righteous anger, she was as careful with him as a precious treasure. Careful not to bump into his sore side, she moved upwards and kissed him deeply, licking into his mouth and swallowing his startled moan when she suddenly sank down onto him.

He’d never been a partner in bed before. Milah used him as an escape and later as a cheap release. Cora didn’t have the capacity for love, but she enjoyed the brinksmanship of fucking. Belle sought not only her own pleasure but his as well, stroking his neck and chest, encouraging him to hold her hips and help set the pace, leaning over to kiss him. She adjusted her motions to grind rather than thrust and the mood changed, becoming more intense as the tension in her body became whip-taut.

“Please, Nick. Oh…” She groaned. Nick reached for her and stroked, feeling the start of flutters and clenches along his shaft, the coil in his own body beginning to answer. She added her own hand, guiding him, adding to the pressure. Her cheeks were pink and her mouth opened, breath catching in her chest as the flutters turned to powerful squeezes. Belle fell forward, gripping his chest as his cock was clamped in place by her pleasure. Unable to stand immobility in the face of her onslaught, he rolled Belle onto her back and made shallow thrusts into her pulsing grip.

He roared, unable to draw breath as his climax, the most powerful of his life, had him wrapping his hands around his carved headboard and pulling so hard the wood strained. As he collapsed to the side, Belle rolled with him, burying her face in his sweat slicked chest. She hummed contentedly, the vibration against his sensitive side the last thing he felt before he lost all sense of reality.

…

When he woke, laying on his stomach and spread eagled across three pillows, Belle was lazily running a hand along his spine, occasionally kissing his shoulder blades. 

“Look who’s awake, finally.”

“I seem to have been a little worn out.” Careful not to strain his side, he rolled over. Belle started kissing his chest instead. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“Nothing at all. No idea what you’re talking about.” She scooted back and got out of the bed, completely naked, and brought him a glass of cold water. The sight had his mind shorting out again, but it would have to wait. “I managed to salvage dinner. Hungry?”

They ate in bed, the new bed, their bed, until they were sated and loose. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and Nick’s brain was beginning to buzz with activity again.

“You’re scheming.” She lifted her head from his shoulder, peering at him.

“What?”

“You’re planning something. What?”

“I’m thinking about some of the contract terms. I may have some influence to leverage.”

“Over what?” Belle demanded. “If it has to do with me, you better say so.”

“Well, I may attempt to renegotiate the terms of one of your leases.”

Belle sat up. “How so? I was very careful.”

“I know you were. But I may try to get you out of the residential lease.” 

“What?” Belle’s eyes went wide. “Where would I go?”

Nick pulled her down into an embrace and kissed her until her indignant spluttering stopped. “I have a perfect spot for that egg in my display cabinet.”

Belle applied her teeth to his shoulder, eliciting a yelp he would forever deny making. “Three months. No less.” She smoothed over the lovebite with her tongue. “And the egg is going in the café.”


	16. Pesky Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold likes to take care of loose ends.
> 
> So do I.

There was much to arrange over the following days. Cora’s flight was scheduled even before she was fully aware of her circumstances, a massive number of lease agreements and general contracts had to be lightly redrafted to remove Nick’s son from the language, and, as he and Jefferson hammered out the final details, the draft of their latest masterpiece needed to be filed and registered.

He did, however, manage to see Belle some nights. The bed was being properly broken in.

On Thursday morning, feeling better than he had a right to after days of rising by four to get started on paperwork, he was startled from work by a loud knock and the sound of a dozen bells tinkling outside his apartment door. He hauled himself up from the couch where he’d made his third office and opened the door.

“Why, Officer Swan. To what do I owe this honor?”

“Got you something.” Emma Swan thrust the cluster of silver bells into his hand and strode past him, nearly knocking him over with her messenger bag. “I saw the police report. It mentioned the bells being all over the floor and that they were thrown away, so I got you some new ones.” 

Gold held up the bells and gave them an experimental shake. “That’s rather nice. Thank you, but that doesn’t really explain why you’re visiting me.” He inclined his head at her shuffling. “You’ve given some thought to our arrangement, I see?”

Officer Swan never struck Gold as the kind of woman to hesitate when asked a direct question, and she did not disappoint him now. “Yes, I have. You know why Graham was kicked off the force, right?”

Gold limped back to the couch and motioned for Swan to join him at the armchair. He set the bells on the coffee table. “I do. He uncovered some ethics violations regarding contract awards for city services, permits, and property usage. If I recall, it would have tipped the re-election campaign into chaos had his information become public.”

Emma flipped her bag open and pulled out an envelope. “Right. Do you have any idea what I have here?”

“Your piggy-bank’s innards?”

Officer Swan gave a wry smile. “Call it my rainy day fund. I stumbled across this a few months ago.” She handed Gold the envelope.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was also enough to take down those awarded the contracts, something that could be handy in the future if he did this right. “Just so we’re clear, you want me to use this in order to do what? Get Graham back on the police force?”

“No. I want his name cleared. It’s up to him if he wants to wear blue again.”

Gold nodded. “You realize there’s no way to do this without ruining the mayor, don’t you, dearie?”

The sympathetic smile turned ever so slightly predatory. Gold could appreciate that. “Oh, I’m counting on it, Mr. Gold.”

With cautious purpose, as his ribs were almost but not quite healed, Gold rose from the couch. “Then I suggest you watch the local section of the newspaper. Give me a week to make my calls, and two weeks for the fallout. We shall see where we are in a month.” He paused. “You know, I’m not sure this is quite commensurate to you just showing up with a gun on your belt.”

“I know.” Officer Swan replied as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “But it’s the only thing I want that I can’t do myself. Plus, I got you some bells.”

Gold flourished his hand through the air and made an ostentatious bow. “Consider the scales balanced.” He walked her to the door and they shook as she made her exit. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Swan.”

“That’s Officer Swan. See you around, Gold.”

…

Delighted by the prospect of having certain scourges from his past owe him favors, Nicholas made his first round of calls while Swan was probably still in the building. He would savor the possibility of having Killian Jones in his debt for as long as possible. The bastard’s shipping company had a lock on the port contracts, and it seemed he won them by feathering the mayor’s nest handsomely.

This was even better than breaking a cane on him.

Buoyed by his good fortune, he headed downstairs to the building manager’s office. Gold rapped on the open door. “Marco, can you spare a few minutes?”

The man sprang from his desk and shuffled his papers and blueprints around. “Of course, Mr. Gold! Please, come in! I make a spot for you.” Marco cleared a space and set stacks of notebooks and drawings aside. “Tell me, what can I do for you?”

“Have you got a preliminary plan for your renovations? Drawings, concepts, anything?”

Marco eyed the pile of papers. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask so soon, but I can, erm,” Marco hesitated.

“No, no. I wasn’t asking for the whole thing. I just wanted to see what you had in mind.”

“Oh! Well then, yes.” Marco lifted a sketchbook and flipped it open to a page marked by rubber bands wrapped around the edge. He offered it to Gold like a newborn child. “If, eh, you care to look.”

Gold nodded. “How would you like a test lab?”

“Pardon?”

“I have a new vacancy on the second floor. You could use it to test your ideas.”

Marco’s face twitched in a smile. “That would be most ideal.”

“Excellent. Though,” Gold pointed to the kitchen in the floor plan sketch. “I think this space might need some expansion. And in the test I’d like to budget for some premium appliances. Consider it a blank check.” 

“Mr. Gold?”

Gold ignored the slack-jawed expression. “Do you think you might be able to get it done in about… three months?”

Marco grinned. “I have it on good authority that I should have my assistant next month. He and I will get it done, pronto.” The note of pride was not lost on Gold. “Marco? Have you heard from August?”

Marco bounced and raised his fists in triumph. “I have! He wants to come home to me! My son is coming home!” He calmed, aware of the polite quiet in the room. “And your boy, Bae? What of him?”

Gold rubbed absently at a splotch on his cane. “He has purchased airline tickets. And will arrive as I expect, though I know no more.”

Marco took Gold’s hand and pumped it furiously. “My friend, we will both be completed. The holes in our hearts, they will be filled. I know it.” Marco rubbed at his face with his sleeve. “I just know it.”

…

Belle giggled as Nick licked syrupy juice off her fingertips and chewed thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I’d suggest less honey and more of the fruit mash.” 

“Well, then. I think that rather rounds out the dessert menu. Shall we talk about the entrees, or should we leave that for another night?” Belle shoved the sample plate away and settled herself across his lap again.

“Remind me again what you plan to include?”

Belle leaned forward and kissed him. “Meatloaf.” Another kiss. “Hamburgers.” Nick nodded and mumbled. “A pasta dish or two. Ruby’s Grandma makes great lasagna.” 

Nick nudged her chin up to nuzzle her neck. “That all sounds good.” He traced her throat with the tip of his nose. “I like simple food.”

Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted to straddle him. “And we’ll make sure to have quick breakfasts for the work crowd, and maybe, oh!” Belle sighed as Nick tugged her shirt open. “Maybe have grab and go bagels and muffins. And… _mmmm, Nick_ … premium coffee.”

“You have to have coffee.” He tongued her collarbone. “I like good coffee.”

“Might have to also offer tea, though. In this town… _Jesus, Nick your mouth_ … what was I saying?”

Nick grinned. “Tea.” He returned to her neck.

“Oh, yeah… _oh yeah_. We have a lot of herbal drinkers, but plenty of people around here want real leaf tea.”

“Proper tea.” He sucked at her pulse. “Good.”

Belle went still. “What did you say?”

“Tea good.” He started to pull at her bra. “This is better.”

“No, no, no. Wait.” Belle’s eyes were smiling. “You said ‘simple food’, ‘good coffee’, and ‘proper tea’.”

“So? Let’s get out of these things and we can discuss my phraseology later.”

Belle started laughing and had to hold his shoulders to stop from falling over. Nick dropped his arms to the couch and sighed. 

She clutched his shirt, leaving wrinkled gathers. “It was you! You wrote that note!”

“What note?”

“On the flyer! I was testing out menu concepts. That was written on one in a margin. I kept it!”

Nick adjusted himself and returned his hands to Belle’s sides. “I seem to recall the flyer. I also recall desperately hoping that you weren’t going to open one of those restaurants that names their dishes after architectural terms or only employs bearded men with ironic names.”

Belle giggled as Nick returned to her neck. “Granny has a moustache.” 

“You say the sexiest things.” He peppered the skin left exposed by her bra. “Just promise me you’ll have normal food with normal names.”

“Absolutely. Normal food.” Belle buried her hands in Nick’s hair as he applied his tongue and teeth. She thrust against him gently. “With just a tiny little twist.” 

“Twist good.” He mumbled, and yanked her shirt over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go.


	17. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The progress of Gold.
> 
> A man can and should be his own toughest critic.

Two months later…

Nick grumbled as Belle finished hooking up the last cable. She stood, and gingerly pressed the power button. “Well, let’s see if this works!”

“I don’t see why I should have to launch my work into the twenty-fourth century. I’m not building rockets, I’m restoring antiques, and I have an accountant to take care of the rents.” He poked at the printer as it spit out a test sheet.

Belle clicked through prompts and laughed. “I’m dragging you kicking and screaming into the late twentieth century at best, dear. And no one said you had to use it. I need a place to work away from the restaurant.” She plugged in a tiny chip of plastic and was pleased when it lit up. “Look! I’ve almost got the new menu ready for printing!”

Nick leaned over and frowned. “It seems to have truncated your price list.”

Belle pointed to the screen and shook her head. “Nope. I’m just using single digit prices. It’s cool.” Nick sighed and Belle prodded him in the side. “Now don’t you start. You only disliked the burger when I told you it was a quarter bison.”

“Hmmph.”

“And you were licking the bun. Admit it, you love aioli.” 

“What’s wrong with just calling it mayonnaise?” Belle stood and kissed his cheek. He leaned into it.

“Because it’s not mayonnaise, it’s infused aioli and you love it.” Nick refused to acknowledge the revelation and sat at his own desk, blessedly free of digital equipment aside from his phone. 

Belle exchanged disks and started another round of clicks as Nick sent Marco a message asking when the new apartment would be ready. He received another back reminding him that the countertops he wanted would be in soon, but that granite required equipment he did not have in yet.

_August is almost done with the appliances. Your bird’s nest will be feathered soon. Carpet installation in 2 days. –M_

Nick shoved his phone across the desk and pushed things around until Belle stopped clicking and kissed him. “Hey. I know there’s a lot going on this week. Let’s go grab a coffee, okay?

She clicked through a few more prompts and had some other program up and running. Suddenly the fax machine whirred to life and a series of red-boxed alerts popped on the screen. 

“Oh, it looks like we have some incoming faxes, but… hmm. There’s something wrong with the files, I can’t view them without downloading or printing them.” Belle scratched her head. “This might be some kind of virus.”

“What’s the number?”

Belle rattled off a long list of digits and Nick started laughing. “That’s my office number in Scotland. It would seem that Cora is settling in. Go ahead and print them, love.”

Sheets sprang from the machine and Belle picked them out. She tilted her head as she gazed at one. “Huh. I’m not sure… Oh my God!” One hand flew to cover her gaping mouth. “Is that… is that what I think it is?”

Nick took the pages and chucked. “Yes, love. It appears that Cora has learned to use the copier as well.” He rotated the image and shook his head. “Well, the woman should be considered an artist. She’s never before represented herself so accurately.”

…

By Friday, a new set of folding chairs and a table sat in front of Nicholas Gold’s building. They were a nice place for the morning rush crowd to drop their bags as they bought cups of coffee and whole grain muffins from the freshly painted cart that had found new life there.

The sign on it said ‘The Chip’. It was the counterpart to the restaurant across the street, named ‘The Chipped Cup’. The cup it was named after still took turns residing either in the second floor apartment that Belle adamantly denied she was sharing and the shop. While he didn’t always take it with him, Nicholas custom made a lined case for it for the days he did. The Chipped Cup was only open for dinner with a limited menu so far, but the motley crew that staffed it seemed to be getting along well. There was Granny the cook and her kitchen staff of oddly-named miscreants, Ruby the waitress who ran the cart in the mornings with an otherwordly girl who went by Aurora, and finally the painfully named Tiny, who was currently wrestling a crate of avocados into the restaurant. 

The morning crowd was gone. Belle’s new menus were in and she sipped coffee as she admired it. “This font is just right. Just a little whimsical without being hard to read.” She peered at it closely, flipping it over and over. “They got the colors just right, wouldn’t you say?” Before Nick could even reply she moved on. “There’s just one typo, and it’s in the small print at the bottom. No one will notice.” 

“You mean the line where you say you carry 'only fair trade, all-organic, gluten free, non-gmo coffees and teats'?”

“C’mon! No one will notice.” Belle slurped her coffee and chewed her lip. “Will they?”

“You’re asking the wrong man about fine print.” Nick checked his watch and stood. “I have to get to the shop. Maybe you should have chosen a more difficult-to-read font.”

“I have to have these reprinted, don’t I?”

“Or you can just trim the bottom half-inch off all the menus and check the actual text next time, rather than rely on that wretched spell-checker.”

Belle stood up with a grin and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Why, Nick! That’s so kind of you to offer! It would be wonderful if you would!”

Nick swallowed. “Would… what?”

“Proofread all the stuff for the café. I’m so thankful.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How thankful?”

Belle stepped into his arms and kissed him. No one at the cart could see that she slipped a hand under his jacket and lightly brushed a hand over him. “ _Very_ thankful.”

…

“He hasn’t called or texted. Where could he be?” Nick shuffled back and forth, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.

The apartment was cleaned in preparation to move, their new place nearly complete. 

“Sit down, please, Nick.” Belle called from the couch. It’s only been an hour and they’re in traffic. You’re going to get hurt if you keep that up.”

“The airport isn’t that far away.” He huffed as he sat heavily next to her. “I’ve waited for this moment for so long. Now it’s here, I can’t decide if I want to run downstairs to meet them, stop the clock, or vomit.”

Belle scooted over and kissed him. Unable to sleep the night before, he was a touch haggard despite the bright focus in his eyes. She kissed his cheek and went to the kitchen to make tea. By the time she settled his cup in his restless hands, his phone chirped. 

“Jefferson says they’re almost here. What do I do?” His hands, roving before, now trembled. Hands that could reset gemstones, apply the perfect pressure to wood, and polish delicate porcelain, were shivering like dry leaves. 

Graham now coordinated the security on all his properties, and was likely to announce his engagement any day. Jefferson handled the property law for a local real estate firm, but still had Gold on his speed dial and accepted his calls no matter what he was doing. It was a small price to pay for a penthouse and the freedom to spend every chance with his daughter he could get. Whale was free and was moving to a more prestigious practice.

And then there was Belle. Her sweet face never failed to illuminate, inspire, and anchor him. Her touch was a restorative.

Belle took the cup away and held his hands. “You do the brave thing, Nick. And I’ll be right there with you.”

Nicholas Gold took a deep breath and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He no longer avoided them like he used to because he wasn’t disgusted by himself as he once was. It was amazing how accurate the old saw was about being able to face yourself. 

Belle’s hands came into view and straightened his tie. He looked down and knew it wasn’t just her doing, but she had been the push he needed to be what he should have been. What he always could have been, but was afraid or unwilling to try. 

He was as close to being the man he wanted to be as he was going to get. If that was enough for Belle and for the people around him, then he hoped it would be enough for Bae. It had to be.

Nicholas kissed Belle on the forehead. “Thank you, love. For everything.” She grinned and took his hand as he opened the door. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

...

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest gratitude to Audreyii_fic and Flameysaur:
> 
> For introducing me to Once Upon a Time (though gratitude may not be the right word...)
> 
> For conversations on Twitter
> 
> For pre-reading
> 
> For being supportive and responsive.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who read, as well as commented. What a lovely fandom!


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